


Across The Sky In Stars

by Fightyourdragon



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q Reverse Bang, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Bittersweet, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, M/M, Magical Realism, Suspension Of Disbelief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fightyourdragon/pseuds/Fightyourdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, a young boy found a fascinating mechanical doll in the attic...</p><p>A fairytalesque story of the life of James Bond, and his best friend Q. A tale of growing up, and learning about life and death, of loss and love, and of finding their happily ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across The Sky In Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This story was such fun to write! The picture it is based off of (which I will put up as soon as I have a link) was drawn by the lovely Chuuland- find her on tumblr- and depicts Q as a life-sized wind-up doll, seated on the floor of a cluttered attic and holding a toy ball. James, as a child, is pictured as just having discovered Q. When I started writing, the first line came out like a fairy tale and I decided to keep that feeling throughout. Willing suspension of disbelief required as yes, Q is a sentient wooden doll : ) This fic features an asexual, biromantic James. As such, there is no sex and in fact very little kissing, but plenty of cuddling and sweetness. Just so you know what you are getting into if you don't read tags. Because there are all sorts of love, and this is one type that gets little love in fanfic, and it deserves to. Extra love and thanks as always to my Beta Hedwig-Dordt for her tireless author-wrangling! Thank you for reading!
> 
> Art is by the talented Chuuland (find her on tumblr!) Thank you for such a gorgeous, inspiring piece of art!

_I loved you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands_

_and wrote my will across the sky in stars_

_-T. E. Lawrence_

Once upon a time, a young boy found a fascinating mechanical doll in the attic. He wasn’t just an ordinary boy, he was a very special boy. He knew this, because his mum told him so constantly as she kissed his cheeks, which he pretended not to like, but secretly did. 

The boy was also very brave. He knew this because his father had told him so- just once- after he’d shot a rabid raccoon that had his mum’s new kitten cornered in the barn. It had made a great impression. 

One rainy day, when the boy was eleven years old, he took an oil lamp (torches weren’t fit for real exploring so he’d borrowed one from the old shed) and ventured up into the attic. This took a great deal of bravery indeed, because the attic was vast and dark and filled with an assortment of odd and terrifying things. He carried with him a pack containing two sandwiches, a cookie, a bottle of water, a few books, and his sketchbook and pencils. He meant to make this a long expedition, as the neighbor lady who smelled like too much sweet perfume was coming to visit and he wasn’t about to have his cheek pinched _this_ time. 

As soon as he’d climbed the ladder and shut the trap door behind him, he was in another world. It wasn’t _quite_ Narnia, or Oz, or Middle Earth, but it was still his own and that made it magical. It smelled of dust and moth balls and aging paper, wood, and cloth. It smelled like home. 

He’d yet to explore the entire thing, as it stretched the entire length of the large house and he generally got distracted by some wonderful, ancient discovery. The house had been in the Bond family for hundreds of years, and the forgotten treasures of generations were stacked from floor to angled ceiling. 

The boy walked stealthily, practicing the art of moving without being heard that Kinkade had taught him during their bird hunting expeditions. Ghosts might be imaginary, but that was no reason to go alerting them of his presence, just in case. After all, he wasn’t _completely_ certain. His father said ghosts went against science and that ended the discussion, but his mum always winked and whispered that all those stories had to come from _somewhere._

He crept past the shelf of old moldy photo books, the chest filled with war medals and knives and uniforms, the cracked mirrors and boxes of broken clocks and assorted useless machinery. Past the faded, rotting furniture and the eerie shelf of dusty old stuffed animals missing eyes or limbs. He snuck behind a stack of boxes and into the fort he’d created for himself.

The inside of the fort consisted of a few mismatched sofa cushions, a crooked shelf displaying his favorite treasures, a small table with another gas lamp on it, and a wooden crate he used as a chair. It was an excellent fort, and no one knew about it but him. He was extraordinarily proud of it. He deposited his pack, took out the cookie, and munched it as he headed out to explore the right wing of the attic. 

He stepped lightly as he went since he hadn’t been here before and he’d discovered that some of the floorboards were rotted and threatening to break. He had a piece of chalk in his pocket to mark them if he found any so he’d know to avoid them next time. 

The first thing he discovered, to his delight, was a dingy suit of armour on a stand. It was beginning to rust in some places and the sword wouldn’t come free of the metal fist, but it was still amazing. He determined to ask if he could have it in his bedroom, as having his very own knight would be a fine thing indeed. 

The next few meters didn’t reveal anything exciting, just piles of old dishes and bundles of moth-eaten quilts, and some old shoes in a large chest. This was particularly disappointing, as it had looked very like a pirate’s chest. He had recently finished reading Treasure Island, and he was very keen on pirates. He marked one dangerous board, and carried on. The dust in the air reflected in the dim light from a small, dirty, window at the far end of the room. He looked carefully for ghosts in the faded rays, but he didn’t see any. 

Then he heard a noise. 

It was just a quiet _tink,_ like the sound of metal hitting metal. He froze, his brave heart beating faster. There was no one here, and no wind, and he hadn’t pushed anything over or dropped anything so there shouldn't _be_ any noises. He took a deep breath and raised his lantern in one hand and reached his other into his pocket to grip the concealed swiss army knife he always carried. Just in case. He held still and listened, but the noise didn’t return. Part of him wanted to run away, but he stayed where he was.

A memory flashed through his mind. He was seven, and out on the moor with Kinkade. They’d run across a snake, and he’d turned and fled, tripping headlong over a stone and scraping his knee. Kinkade had told him in a serious voice: _When you’re afraid, you’ll always want to either run or charge, and both without thinking. Don’t. Stop, breathe, and_ think _, boy. That’s what’ll save you. That’s what’ll set you apart from the rest._

So he remembered, and he thought. It wouldn’t do to run, as he’d only fall through a board with his pounding steps. And he might never discover what made the noise, and he needed to know. He didn’t want to become afraid of the attic, because the attic was _his._ So he turned slowly in the direction of the noise, somewhere in the direction of the window. He listened carefully, but the only sound he heard was his own heartbeat. He edged carefully around a sheet-covered sofa, and then he saw it. Or rather, him.

It was a doll. A _large_ doll, as it would be as tall as his father if it were standing. It was leaning against the wall by the window as if asleep, and made entirely out of wood and metal. A key on a chain was dangling from one outstretched hand, which was posed casually on one of the doll’s knees. The key was lying on a piece of scrap iron. When the boy cautiously lifted the key, he couldn’t see an outline of it in the dust. It must’ve fallen, making the noise. Mystery solved, his nerves gave way to curiosity. 

He knelt down and reached out to gently take the yellow ball clutched in the doll’s other hand. He looked it over closely, but it seemed to be just an ordinary ball. He bounced it once, and was surprised to discover it wasn’t at all flat. Then he leaned in and brushed the dust away from a heart-shaped pane of glass on the doll’s chest. Once it was cleared, he could see the clockwork cogs and gears within. The doll was mechanical! There was a small bronze-ringed keyhole in the center of the heart, and he picked the key up with a thrill of excitement. This was definitely the best thing he’d ever discovered. He examined the doll’s limbs carefully, and noted they had metal hinges for movement. The eyes looked like they could blink, and there were very fine lines around the mouth and chin so maybe the doll could even talk! 

Carefully, he slid the key into the keyhole and turned it. It wasn’t like a door key, but shaped more like the key to wind a music box and it turned nearly twenty times before it stopped. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the key out and stood, scrambling back a few steps since he wasn’t entirely certain what would happen. 

For a moment the doll remained motionless, then there was a soft whirring sound and the doll blinked its eyes open and turned its head to look at the boy. It didn’t say anything, but it cocked its head slightly to the side as if it were curious. Its messy curls- which were some sort of actual hair and not carved wood- flopped into its eyes. It reached out and picked up the ball again, and then shifted its legs and stood awkwardly, as if it were stiff, and looked down at the boy. It took a slight step forward, and then held out the ball. 

“Hello,” the boy said. “You’re simply marvelous, aren’t you? I’m James. I don’t suppose you have a name?” Even though the doll was taller than him, it didn’t seem dangerous or intimidating for some reason. “Can you talk?” 

The doll somehow managed to communicate confusion in its stance. It held the ball out again, inviting the boy to take it. 

“Hmm, maybe you can’t. I’ve never heard of a talking doll, I suppose, but you seem special. What do you want me to do with the ball? Do you know how to play catch?” The boy took the ball and tossed it at the doll. He laughed when the doll made a clumsy movement, but the ball just bounced off of its chest. 

The doll looked down and shuffled its feet as if it were embarrassed. 

“I think maybe you need to be oiled, you’ve probably been here a while. Then we’ll see if you can catch the ball. Come with me,” he encouraged, beckoning the doll with one hand and beginning to walk backwards in the direction of his fort. 

The doll didn’t move. It simply looked at the boy and stretched out its hand, copying the beckoning gesture as if asking the boy to come with him instead. 

“No silly, I’m not leaving you. I want you to come _with_ me. Maybe you don’t understand English. Suivez-moi, s’il vous plaît,” he tried in the French his mother had insisted he learn. The doll only blinked. “Bitte, kommen Sie mit mir,” he tried in the German his father insisted he learn as well. No response. “Nothing?” He reached out and took the doll’s hand and tugged it gently. “With me. You can stay in my fort, it’s much nicer than this place. And I have oil there. Come on,” he encouraged. He smiled brightly when the doll came along, managing to appear pleased and relieved even though its features were frozen. Clearly, it contained a very special sort of machinery. 

The boy led the doll into his fort and seated him on the crate. He grabbed the rag he used for cleaning his new treasures and opened the base of the lamp on the table to get to the oil inside. “I’m just going to put some of this on your metal joints. It won’t hurt,” he assured since the doll leaned back a bit as if nervous. He dipped the rag in the oil and started on the joints of the ankles, working his way up until he’d oiled all of the joints up to neck. The he worked his way down to each hand. As he worked, he kept up a running dialogue with the doll even though the doll didn’t respond. 

“Like I said, I’m James. James Bond. I’m eleven, how old are you? I’ve no brothers or sisters, and we live ever so far from anyone, so I don’t really have friends either. Well, there’s Kinkade, but he’s a bit old to really be a friend. I’m so happy to have found you, as I’m sure we can have all sorts of fun together. You can stay here, and you’ll be my secret best friend. How did you get here? Father can’t have built you, he’s only interested in reading the paper and going to London to check on business. Maybe his brother, the one who died before I was born. Mummy says he made a few of the clocks in the house, and they keep better time than anything she’s ever seen. She’s nice, mum, you’d like her. She tells me stories of great adventures, and reads me books. She’d believe you can understand me. You _can_ understand me at least a bit, can’t you?” He paused and looked up at the doll inquisitively. 

The doll cocked its head. It wasn’t quite a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. 

“Well maybe not yet, but I think you’re trying. Maybe you’ve just been alone too long. Have you ever been out of the house?” 

The doll shook its head slowly. 

“You do understand me! I’ve no idea how though. You don’t much look like Pinocchio, and anyway that’s just a story. But maybe you’re still magical. I’ve never seen anything really and truly magical until you.” The boy felt a rush of excitement at the idea. He was too old to believe in magic, he supposed, but it was hard not to with the doll here. It didn’t seem like just an automaton. It seemed intelligent, which should be impossible. “There. Can you move better now? Move. Like this.” He waved his arms around slowly. 

The doll watched the boy for a moment, and then began moving its arms slowly as well. 

“That’s great!” the boy exclaimed. He was terribly excited. He’d always longed for adventure, and this was definitely some sort of an adventure, having a sentient mechanical doll all of his own. He was sure he could teach it all sorts of things. Maybe, someday, it could even learn to speak. 

“You need a name. I can’t just call you doll, or it.” He considered carefully. 

The doll held out its left arm palm up, and tapped a small letter burnt into its inner wrist. 

The boy leaned in, curiously. It was just a single letter, a capital Q. “Q?” That’s a kind of strange name, but if you like it…

The doll nodded. 

“Well, okay then. Pleased you meet you, Q.” He held out his hand. 

Q simply looked at it. 

“You’re supposed to shake it. Like this.” He took the doll’s hand and shook it. 

Q cocked his head as if concentrating, but tightened his grip fractionally. He didn’t smile, since his face was frozen in some sort of knowing half-smirk, but he seemed pleased all the same. 

“Perfect. That’s how you greet someone. You shake hands. I guess I have a lot to teach you, huh?” 

The doll nodded. 

“Well I’ve got all day, so let’s get started!” The boy sat down and took out his book of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. He supposed he may as well start out with the important things first. 

By the time the boy headed back downstairs, promising Q he would be back tomorrow after his day’s lesson’s with his mum, he was even more thrilled with his find. Q was fascinating, and an excellent listener. He determined to ask his parents about Q, without revealing too much. Somehow, Q felt like a secret just for him. 

When the boy returned to the attic it wasn’t exactly the next day, but it would be quite soon. He crept up into the attic, stealthily, since he was unable to sleep for the excitement of knowing Q was there. 

“Q! I’m back!” he called softly as he approached the fort. Once inside, he found Q sitting in the dark on a sofa cushion and tossing the yellow ball back and forth between his hands. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t think about the dark, Q. I was lying in bed and thinking that you were up here without any light and I hoped you weren’t afraid of the dark or anything. Even though I’m not sure you can feel things like that. Can you?” 

Q simply cocked his head again, which seemed to be his way of saying _I don’t understand_. 

“Afraid. You know, when you feel...like you want to run or hide. Your stomach kind of clenches up, and it doesn’t feel very good. You never feel afraid?” 

The doll shook his head. 

The boy sat on the crate and watched Q play with the ball. “Well you must feel some things. You feel bored, or you wouldn’t look for something to play with.” When he got no response he continued. “Bored is when you feel like you need to find something to do, like you can’t just sit and do what you’re doing any longer or you’ll go out of your skin. Well you don’t have skin, but surely you feel like you want to do more than just sit so you went to find the ball.” 

Q noded, holding out the ball to the boy. 

“Oh, you want to play with me? Sure!” He held his hands out and Q tossed him the ball, which he caught and tossed back. He talked as they threw it back and forth. “I asked mummy about you. She says my uncle was a wonderful clock maker and inventor, and he was trying to create a sort of android. To help with chores, play with the kids, things like that to help around the house. I guess he gave each on a letter, and you’re Q. That’s an awful lot of letters in, no wonder you’re so amazing. Father always thought it was nonsense, so he stuck you up here after my uncle died. _I_ don’t think you’re nonsense though,” he assured. 

Q simply nodded, and the boy was certain that if he could smile he would. 

“She doesn’t know you work though, I kept that a secret. I don’t want you to be stuck in the dark up here all the time though, so I brought you a wind-up torch.” He caught the ball and set it down so he could pick up the torch. He held it out and showed Q the crank. “You just turn this a bunch of times, and it will keep the light burning.” He cranked it, and showed Q how the light came on. “This way, you can see to explore or...I don’t know. Can you draw?” He handed Q the torch and picked up the pad of drawing paper and pencil he’d left earlier. 

Q examined the torch closely. He reached out and touched the boy’s arm and nodded. 

“I think you mean thank you. You’re welcome. Now I need to get to bed, if mummy finds me missing she’ll worry ever so. I’ll come back in the morning. Good night, Q.” He hesitated uncertainly for a moment before crawling over and hugging the doll. 

For a moment Q did nothing, but then his arms came carefully around to encircle the boy. He tilted his head to rest against the boy’s for a moment, and then let go. 

The boy grinned, waved at his friend, and made his way back to his bed. That night, he dreamt of stealing a pirate ship with Q and sailing off on a grand adventure. He dreamt of growing old, and retiring on the moon, and of never being alone again.

Months passed, and the boy and Q became the very best of friends. The boy taught Q to play Checkers, and Chess, and Poker. He read Q books, and explained them whenever it seemed Q was confused. The boy supposed if he’d never left this house, he wouldn’t understand much about the world either, and it was rather entertaining sharing all of his vast knowledge of tales of adventure. 

He brought Q some of his father’s old clothes, just a white button down shirt and a pair of grey trousers, but he thought his doll looked much more real with clothing on. They fashioned a belt out of a red piece of ribbon they found in the attic, and the boy thought Q looked very dashing indeed. Especially when they were practicing sword fighting, as they had discovered a few old foils in the left wing of the attic. 

The boy came to visit every day, and he told Q everything, and Q listened intently. He was especially curious about the trips the boy took with Kinkade. He still didn’t talk, exactly, but he somehow managed to be very expressive. One afternoon, the boy told Q how he had shot a goose while hunting, and how the blood was very red and very warm and he had felt bad for taking its life. So Kinkade had told him very seriously that it was only okay to kill for three reasons: It was necessary to survive, to protect Queen and Country, or to protect oneself from being killed instead. 

Q seemed very confused, and shook his head to show it. 

“Why did I feel bad?” 

Q shook his head. 

“Oh! Do you know what it means, to kill something?” 

Q shook his head again. 

“Killing means stopping something from living. Stopping it from getting older, from existing. Dying is...permanent. It’s like falling asleep and never waking up. I don’t suppose you’ll ever die, will you? You don’t have a beating heart to begin with, so I guess it won’t ever stop working.” 

Q waved towards the key on a thin piece of rope around the boy’s neck and mimicked turning the key and winding himself up. 

“I suppose that’s true. If no one ever wound you again, it would be like dying. Or you could be taken apart, I suppose,” he mused. 

Q scrambled back and smacked into the wall. 

“Hey, it’s okay! I won’t let that happen. Wait, Q...you’re afraid. You _can_ feel!” The boy felt a thrill of excitement. Not that Q was afraid, but that he could feel fear. He _was_ changing. He was becoming more and more real every day, the boy just knew it.

One rainy day, the boy went pounding up the stairs to the attic and rushed into the fort. Q looked up from his drawings.

“Oh, you’re getting really good!” the boy exclaimed, crawling in and holding up his lamp so he could see better. There was a drawing of the view of the moors from the one attic window, one of the boy flying on a dragon, and one of the boy reading, his hair flopping into his eyes. “The dragon is from that last picture book of knights and dragons, isn’t it?” 

Q nodded, holding out the drawings and managing to look pleased. 

“I have a new story to read to you!” The boy sat next to Q, shoulder-to shoulder as he’d grown accustomed to doing. He was working on teaching Q to read, even though it was difficult to tell how much the doll was catching on. “Mummy just brought it back from her trip with Father and she read it to me before bed last night. It’s about a toy that becomes real because his boy loved him enough. It’s called, _The Velveteen Rabbit_.” 

The boy pulled a blanket up around them as he read the story to Q, because it was winter now and chilly in the attic. Q raised his arm so the boy could tuck himself up against his side, and wrapped it gently around the boy’s shoulder. The boy was very comfortable, and very happy. When the story was finished, he turned to Q and said, “It’s just like us, isn’t it? Only I’m not going to get scarlet fever, of course. But the rabbit was real, because the boy believed he was. Just like I believe you’re real,” he stated with perfect confidence. 

Q nodded, and though he was made of wood and it shouldn’t have been possible, he smiled for the first time. 

So for a whole year, the boy was happy. He learned about hunting and tracking and marksmanship from Kinkade. He learned about history, and math, and literature from his mother. He learned about proper speech and proper dressing and the proper way to tie a tie from his father. And from Q, he learned how to have a friend. But happiness, like all things, is fleeting.

One day, when it was summer again and the world was bright and warm, the boy came tearing up the stairs and into the fort, where he held onto Q and cried, and cried, and cried. His parents had been killed in a car accident, and he was only twelve years old, and still needed them. But life, it seemed, did not care what he needed. 

The boy cuddled up to his doll and sobbed until his tears ran out and he felt hollow and raw. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him now, and he was grieving and terrified, and he wanted to hide here forever with Q. To never come out, and stay here with the one person left who belonged to him. _Person._ He’d never thought of Q in exactly that way, before, but he realized it was true. Q wasn’t a machine to him, he _was_ real. And no matter what, he wasn’t losing him too. Not ever. 

Q ran his hand up and down the boy’s back, soothing him until the tears stopped. Then, for the first time ever, he spoke. “James,” he said, in a voice that was clear and musical. 

The boy sat up far enough to look at Q. “You can talk?” he sniffed, his voice ragged from crying. “How?” 

 

Q stroked the boy’s hair gently as he spoke. “I do not know. Perhaps because now you need me to talk. Perhaps because I need to tell you that I still do not entirely understand what it is to die, but you told me once that I cannot do it. And that means I will never leave you like your parents. Though it makes me feel...sad...that you are sad. I feel sad every time you leave me, though I know you will return. To think of you leaving and never returning...I regret that you feel that much sadness, my James. I want to help, but I do not know how.” 

The boy’s eyes filled with tears again, because he was feeling so many things at once and he didn’t know how to deal with them. He wasn’t even sure if he was _allowed_ to feel any sort of happiness at the moment, but Q could _talk._ That was exciting, and wonderful. But he could still barely breathe for thinking about the house below him, empty aside from Kinkade who was no doubt searching for him. “I don’t know either, Q,” the boy sniffed. He leaned his head against Q’s chest to focus on the soothing sound of whirring gears, and closed his eyes.

“Q?” the boy mumbled groggily, uncertain how long he’d been asleep. For a moment his mind was blissfully blank, and then he remembered and everything hurt all over again. 

“You were sleeping and I did not wish to wake you. I do not sleep, so I watched and kept you safe. Just like one of the knights in your stories,” Q replied. He sounded very proud of himself. 

“You sound very proper,” the boy noted, certain that he didn’t talk like that so his doll hadn’t learned it from him. 

“Do I? I believe I was created to speak this way, though I have never actually spoken before. My creator tried to get me to speak, but it never worked. Perhaps he did not try as hard as you. Do you not like it? I believe I can change if you wish.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just happy you’re talking.”

“As am I,” Q replied in his softly lilting voice. 

“I should go back down, Kinkade must be worried. You should come with me,” the boy decided. “You can stay with me in my room, and come with me if...if I can’t stay here.” The thought filled him with fear all over again. 

“I will always stay with you,” Q assured the boy. “But I thought you did not want anyone else to see me. That you did not want anyone to see how different I am.” 

The boy looked at Q, surprised he even had room left over for an emotion such as guilt. “Is that what you thought? I’m not ashamed of you, I just wanted to keep you to myself. Lots of heroes have a secret friend no one knows about, like a dragon or a wizard or a leprechaun or something. It seemed like an adventure, keeping you to myself. And I’m not sure it would be 

very safe for anyone to know you’re anything other than just a doll. You might scare people. Most robots can’t think for themselves, you know.” 

“I am _not_ a robot,” Q protested, sounding offended. 

“Well _I_ know that, but you rather look like one. Well, not quite a robot, but some sort of automaton. I’m not even sure how you can think for yourself. I’m certain you don’t have a brain in there and there isn’t a computer small enough to fit in your head. I don’t want anyone to take you away, or take you apart trying to find out how you work. Most people don’t believe in magic.” The boy hugged Q closer. He _couldn’t_ lose him too.

“Most people must be rather dull then. I think I am glad I do not associate with them,” Q stated with certainty. “If that is how most people think, I will not let them know I am special,” he promised. 

“Thank you,” the boy replied, breathing a sigh of relief. “Ready to go downstairs?” 

“I am ready for everything,” Q assured, his face breaking into what should have been an utterly impossible smile for someone carved out of wood.

 

In the end, the boy and his doll did not have to leave for two whole months. The boy’s aunt lived in London, and she was now in charge of him, but Kinkade assured her the boy would be no trouble. She had plans to vacation in the south of Spain, so she said that would be fine but she would be along to collect the boy to bring him to Eton boarding school in the fall. She’d gotten him permission to enroll, though he wouldn’t be thirteen until November.

It was a lovely few months in spite of the fact that the boy was prone to quiet spells and fits of destructive anger, and the fact that he would often cry himself to sleep wrapped around Q. Kinkade made sure the boy ate and took him out hunting and exploring like usual, and gave him hugs and told him that there was nothing wrong with a man crying. Though, he pointed out, it was best only to let people you really trust see it. Luckily, the boy only had people he trusted around him at the time.

Q was extremely curious, and wanted the boy to explain all the household items to him along with their uses. He wanted to know about the house, and the boy’s family. This led to all sorts of other discussions about the world at large and the boy had to get out a globe and explain where England was, and Scotland, and how large the Earth was. This led somehow to an explanation of country boundaries and wars, and he had to give up and just show Q to the library, where he ended up spending every hour he wasn’t with the boy. He had indeed learned how to read, and it seemed that once he heard or read something he never forgot it. 

Q wanted very much to learn how to shoot as well, since the boy seemed to enjoy it so much. The boy started they way he had been taught, by explaining how each gun worked and how to clean it, take it apart, and put it back together. He made sure Q could recite all of the safety rules and assemble a gun before letting him try shooting at cans on a not-so-distant fence when Kinkade was gone for the day. While Q was a natural with the gun itself- he had a definite affinity for anything mechanical, possibly since he was mechanical as well- he wasn’t a terribly good shot at first. He could only manage to shoot one can to the boy’s ten. 

The boy laughed when Q got upset and blamed the rifle, stating there was obviously something wrong with it. This led to Q storming off and shutting himself in Kinkade’s tool room and refusing to come out for the rest of the day. The boy kept returning to laughingly shout things through the door, such as he didn’t even know Q was _capable_ of throwing a tantrum, and he must be becoming more human every day if he was turning into such a sore loser. Q merely ignored him.

At sunset, when the boy was actually beginning to worry, Q emerged with a triumphant look on his face as he presented the gun to the boy. “There,” he stated smugly. “I fixed it.”

The boy took it curiously, and immediately noticed a difference. It was weighted slightly differently, and was easier to hold up to aim. He checked the chamber to be sure it was empty, and noted the motion was far smoother than it had been before. He pulled the trigger and found that it was faster to respond, but still safely controllable. “What did you do?” he asked, impressed.

“I regulated the center of balance, and made a few adjustments to the inner machinery. It was a bit tight. Also, as I suspected, the barrel varied by at least two millimeters from end to end. No wonder I could not aim. You are accustomed to the weapon, so you have simply learned to adjust for its defects.”

“That’s amazing! If you were...you know...you could be a weapons designer or something.” For the first time, the boy wondered if his doll was sad that he wasn’t human. “Does it bother you? That you can’t get a job, and stuff like that?” 

“Why would it bother me? I do not wish to design weapons for anyone but you. Or get a job, unless it would benefit you. I am perfectly happy simply being yours, James,” Q said honestly. 

“Well you’re not my servant or anything. You can do what you want,” the boy replied, both pleased and slightly uncomfortable with the idea. “I mean, you _can_ do what you want, can’t you? You’re not...under my thrall or anything?” He had recently read Dracula, so the concept was fresh in his mind. 

Q waved one elegantly carved hand derisively. “As if you could make me do anything I did not wish to do. I did not do your kitchen chores when you asked me to yesterday. You did not ask me to fix the gun, I chose to. If I wished to leave, I could. I do not wish to. I am happy here with you. I imagine I will always be happy with you.”

“Oh,” the boy said, feeling a rush of relief. “Well that’s okay then. I’m happy with you as well.” He very nearly said _I love you_ , felt it in the same way he’d loved his mum, a thought that made his eyes burn and his throat tighten. He wasn’t sure it was a thing one said to a friend though, especially a mechanical one, so he kept quiet. “So, let’s see if this thing works.” 

It worked. Q was insufferably smug about it for the rest of the day. 

The last day before they had to leave was taken up entirely by packing. The boy was told he could bring one trunk and one suitcase to school, but that was it. Fortunately, every boy got his own room so they didn’t need to worry about hiding Q. Kinkade offered to help, but the boy said no since he wanted Q to help instead. They selected a large trunk from his parent’s room, emptied it of the old baby clothes and articles it contained, and dragged it into the boy’s room for packing. Q himself took up about half of the space, and the boy was worried about him travelling that way but Q assured the boy he didn’t actually need to breathe so it would be fine. 

The rest of the space was filled with what they considered necessities. They explored the entire house and brought all of the best finds to add to the growing pile of treasures: one of the SIGs and some bullets, a few throwing knives, their favorite books, an emergency medical kit because one never knew, some drawing pads and pencils, a picture of the boy and his parents, a few torches, and some rope in case they needed to climb out from a high window to escape. They also packed a new outfit for Q including shoes, gloves, a hat, a scarf, and a coat with a high collar he could turn up just in case he needed to get out of the room. There was just enough room left for a few clothes for the boy, and then they were ready. 

The transition to Eton was far from smooth. The boy had a difficult time of it, since he had never been to an actual school and he was used to being mostly alone. He’d only had his mother as a teacher, and now he had one for every subject. He was surrounded by dozens of other boys, and he didn’t know how to make friends or feel like he related to any of them. They acted like such _children._ And not in the way the boy acted like a child, with pretending to be a knight or a pirate. No, these boys did stupid things like call each other names and pick on the shyest, most awkward boys. They drew pictures of penises in chalk on the teachers’ boards, or passed notes with poorly drawn pictures of the quartermaster in a dress or some such nonsense. The boy was not impressed by them, and he told Q this every time he returned to their room. 

A week after their arrival, the boy stormed into their room bloody and swearing. His nose was smeared with blood, and the knuckles of his right hand were red and ragged. 

“Good job we packed the first aid kit. I suppose it is pointless to ask if you visited the school nurse,” Q tutted as he dug the kit out of the trunk. “Fighting, were you?”

“Don’t sound so irritated, you would’ve done exactly the same thing!” the boy protested, flopping onto the bed and glaring at Q sullenly as he cradled his hand. “Two of the other boys were picking on this kid from my science class. They were calling him a ponce since he was afraid to dissect the frogs, and had him cornered behind the history building. So I told them to leave him alone. It didn’t go well.”

“Hmmm. Did you at least win?” Q asked as he took a towel and dipped it into a stray water glass and began dabbing at the blood on the boy’s face. 

“ _They_ probably went to the nurse,” the boy grinned. “I told them not to tell on me if they knew what was good for them. I don’t think they actually expected me to attack them, so I got lucky. I think I’d better sign up for martial arts though, to get some real training.” He winced when Q rubbed the cloth over his nose. 

“And I think I am going to need some more books. Next time you go to the library, check out some medical books. I need to read up on first aid, and probably learn how to actually use that suture kit if you plan to make a habit of this.” He took the boy’s hand and began cleaning his knuckles. 

“I thought you’d be proud of me,” the boy sulked, sounding upset. 

“I am,” Q assured the boy. “It was very chivalrous of you. I simply do not like to see you hurt. I have never felt pain, but I know it is something bad and I do not like to see you hurting. I think you have had enough of pain, lately,” he said, running a hand gently through the boy’s hair.

Rather than respond, the boy simply hugged his friend; he rarely thought of Q as a doll anymore. And because he was with someone he trusted, and he wished his mum was here to care for him and she wasn’t, he allowed a few tears to fall. He knew Q wouldn’t make fun of him for it. 

As the weeks turned into months, the boy settled into a routine. He still didn’t like studying at Eton nearly as much as he enjoyed staying at Skyfall, but it wasn’t as bad as the first few days. While he didn’t exactly develop any close friendships, he was at least friendly with a few of the boys from the martial arts club he’d joined. He was popular in study groups, since he always understood the material and could explain it easily. He also joined the shooting club, and his performance there added even more fuel to his growing reputation for being somehow dangerous and mysterious. The boy rather liked it, so he didn’t bother trying to change anyone’s mind. 

His fellow students whispered that he carried a knife, and knew how to kill a man with it. Possibly he already had. That he kept a ghost in his room. That his parents were spies and had taught him their secrets, which is why the boy always did so well on tests as it was believed he snuck into the teacher’s rooms and stole the answers. It was also how the boy managed to disappear seemingly at will, and sneak into town to get the cigarettes that he offered for sale in secret. Now none of these things were strictly true, but the boy loved hearing them and spread his own rumors as he saw fit. 

And as always, the boy spent as much time in his room with Q as possible. While the boy was in class, Q read up on his school books so he had the curriculum memorized and could help the boy if necessary. The boy brought Q books from the library as well, and Q found he was especially interested books on all things mechanical. To keep him from getting bored, the boy gathered up items when for Q to tinker with. Some came from the school, and some from visits to the nearest town, purchased with the money they’d found lying about the house and the money his aunt had left for him. Before long, their room was filled with dissected clocks, radios, a record player, and assorted batteries and wires. 

The worst part of the year was over the December holiday break, when the boy’s aunt insisted he spend it with her in London. There was no way for Q to come, and the boy had teared up when he had to leave despite Q assuring him he’d be fine, and had a grand experiment planned, and would show the boy when he returned. It was the first time they’d been apart in years, and neither of them liked the idea even though they both tried to be brave about it. 

Two weeks later, the boy came crashing through the door to their room and tackled a surprised Q to the floor in a hug. “I missed you. London was boring and awful. Well not the city, that was marvelous, but boring Auntie and her boring friends, and everyone expected me to be so proper and well behaved. I thought I’d go mental. What have you been up to?”

“Well it is a bit difficult to show you down here on the floor,” Q replied in amusement as he ruffled the boy’s hair. 

“Oh. Right.” The boy stood and helped Q up, and then bounced on his toes in excitement. “What did you make?” 

Q walked over to the desk, which was a mess of tools and wires and tools and the makings of a few dissected mechanical devices. He picked up two walkie-talkies and held them out with pride. “Happy Christmas, James. Now we can talk when you are not here. Well, if you are within a few miles at least.”

“I love them! Wherever did you get them?” The boy took one and inspected it wonderingly. 

“I put on my gloves, and hat, and scarf, and went to town,” Q said with pride. “I sold a few of my clocks and purchased these. Then I made them better.” He nodded with certainty. “And they have morse code, so we can use that as well if you are in class. We can set it so that they only vibrate slightly, instead of beep, so your teachers will not notice.” 

“They’re perfect! This is the best gift ever! Thank you!” The boy hugged his friend again. And because they had missed each other so, they spent the rest of the afternoon and evening snuggled together on the bed while talking about everything and nothing and simply being happy. Together. 

 

The rest of the year consisted of counting down the days until they could be back at Skyfall for the summer. The boy’s aunt had said he could return, but she was looking into summer programs in France for the following summer. They chose not to think about that. Instead, they used their walkie talkies, and made plans for exciting things such as building their own airplane and learning to fly it, and running off to the rest of the world to have adventures together. It didn’t matter that they knew they probably wouldn’t be able to _do_ any of those things; the joy was in the dreaming. 

The boy and Q made it through the rest of the year with only a few issues. The boy ended up needing some first aid on several occasions, when he got in a few more fights. Which were all completely justifiable, he claimed every time, as Q simply shook his head and got out the bandages. Once, a group of older kids who didn’t like the boy showing them up on the shooting range broke into his room with plans to vandalize it. They left screaming, and told everyone the boy kept a demon in his room. No one ever tried anything like that again. 

That summer was nothing short of perfect as far as the boy and Q were concerned. The plane was a bit out of their reach, but Kinkade did tell the boy that he was nearly a man at almost fourteen, so he could be entrusted with restoring one of the old motorcycles in the shed as long as he promised to wear a helmet when he rode. Kinkade helped when needed, but the boy mostly did it on his own with Q and a few manuals for help. So they once it was fixed, they rode it around the countryside and felt like great adventurers. Kinkade mostly left the boy alone, except for taking him hunting and helping cook meals, and so they were allowed to do as they pleased. 

The thing that kept Q occupied during all of the hours the boy was sleeping or off with Kinkade, was the new BBC Micro B series computer. Q had been desperate to get his hands on one ever since they boy described the ones for student use in the school’s library. It hadn’t taken much for the boy to convince his aunt he needed one in order to keep ahead of the other students, as they were certain to be in all of the offices some day and he would need one when he became a lawyer. He had no intention of becoming a lawyer, but it sounded good and it worked. 

Q spent hours reading the manuals on computer programming the boy had also insisted he needed, and messing about with the machine to create new games and programs for them to play with. The problem, he determined, was with the utter lack of memory space on the machine. He was convinced he could create a better system, and insisted he would need more to work with when they got back to school. He was utterly enchanted with the technology, and had taken the machine apart and put it back together several times over before the summer was over. 

The return to school was less than thrilling for either of them, but there was nothing for it. It wasn’t a week before the boy returned to their room, looking upset. 

“Well, what have those other useless boys done _now_?” Q asked, turning from his mess of computer parts. He was still convinced that his James was the only quality human being anywhere on the school grounds. 

“Q, do you think I’m strange?” the boy asked as he flopped onto his bed. 

Q cocked his head considering. “I do not know. Defined as, _unusual in a way that is unsettling or difficult to understand_ , then no, not to me. However, I can see how stupid people could find you strange. Why, specifically, does someone think you are strange?”

“ _I_ think I must be strange. Q, have you ever...wanted anyone?” The boy asked, picking nervously at a stray bit of string on the blanket. 

“How do you mean, want? I have only ever wanted you, but not in the way I suspect you mean. You are likely referring to sexual desire, as described in the romance novels your mother favored but hid in a box under a spare bed. The men in them were constantly saying, _‘I want you’_ to the swooning women. That is what you mean, yes?”

“Nothing so dramatic, but yeah, pretty much that,” the boy nodded, looking at Q seriously. 

“Then no. For one thing, I do not have a thick, throbbing, cock,” Q pointed out teasingly.

The boy blushed and groaned. “I should never have read that shit. I’m serious though. You _do_ have lips, so have you ever wanted to kiss anyone?”

“No, I have not. I am not certain I am able to feel that sort of desire.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. You can feel anger, and sadness, and excitement, and pretty much everything else. Why not that?” 

“Perhaps I have simply not found anyone I desire in that manner, then. You _are_ the only one I ever spend any time with. Why do you ask?”

“Stephen said he kissed a girl over the summer. He said they even French kissed and he got hard, but then she laughed and ran away. All the other boys were saying how they were so jealous, or telling stories about times they kissed girls, or almost kissed girls, and how they jerked off to nudie mags they stole from older brothers. And I’ve never wanted to do any of that. I think something must be wrong with me.” 

Q walked over to the bed and sat down next to the boy. “I do not think there is anything wrong with you. If you do not want to kiss anyone, then you do not have to. Maybe you simply do not want to kiss girls. Do you want to kiss boys?” 

“No, not boys either. I’ve never even wanted to jerk off thinking about anyone,” the boy lamented, sounding very upset. 

“But you _can_ achieve an erection,so I do not believe you are defective. I have seen you wake up hard plenty of times. And when you do bring yourself to orgasm, it looks just like the romance novels describe,” Q pointed out helpfully. 

“I don’t think that’s the point,” the boy sighed, far too comfortable around Q to feel embarrassed about it. “The point is that all the other boys jerk off thinking about girls when they wake up hard. I hardly ever even jerk off at all, and when I do it’s just because it feels good. I’m not wishing my hand belonged to someone else. I don’t think that’s normal.” 

“Hmmm. I am going to need some books,” Q concluded. It was his default response to any problem. “But I do not think you are strange. Unique perhaps, but never strange. Now, do you want to try the new video game I created?” 

The boy did. 

A few weeks later, on a lazy Saturday, Q decided it was time to share the results of his research. He and the boy stretched out on the bed with the boy’s head tucked into Q’s neck, as per usual for long, lazy Saturday conversations. “As it turns out, I was correct and you are not strange. You are simply some variation of aesexual,” he concluded. 

“I’m _what_?” the boy asked in confusion. 

“I will explain. First, you know I went into town a few weeks ago at night looking for some wiring I needed. I also found all sorts of books and articles on sexuality. It took a while, but I finally found the right bookshop and the owner got me all the books in exchange for fixing his computer and making it better. Then I read all of them. I have Kinsey’s _Sexual Behavior In The Human Male_ : very informative. People get up to all sorts of things I had never considered. There have also been a few articles published, and there are a few mentions of it in other books discussing sexuality. It does seem to be rare, but that does not make it strange.” 

“Okay...but what is it?” 

“It means you do not experience sexual attraction, and possibly do not have any interest in sexual activity. Though you can still participate in it, if you decide to. It does not, however, seem to mean you can not- how do the novels put it- fall in love. Clearly you enjoy physical proximity and touch. Possibly you would enjoy kissing, but only for the sake of kissing, not as a precursor to sexual activity. There was not a lot of information, disappointingly. But still, there _was_ information. Therefore, you are not strange.” Q ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, since he knew the boy enjoyed it. 

“It’s strange enough! What do I do when the boys talk about sex? When a girl wants me to take her out on a date? No one is going to want to be with me if I don’t want to have sex with them!” The boy banged his head against Q’s shoulder in frustration. 

“Well if you are like this, it stands to reason others must be as well. You just need to find someone. Do not worry though. If you do not find anyone else, I will stay with you and you will not be alone,” Q assured the boy. 

“Thank you, Q,” the boy replied. “And of course you’ll stay with me. If I wanted to be with someone, they would have to be okay with you being around. I’m just glad you don’t think I’m a freak.” 

“You are not. Now, shall we see if the model airplane I made can fly out the window? Maybe you can crash it into the head of one of those idiot boys…”

What is there to tell about the boy and his mechanical best friend over the next few years? For the most part, they were happy. They survived school, they learned how to sneak out and onto the roof and down into the other buildings for night time adventures, they developed their own secret form of morse code. They learned all the really interesting things on their own. They did science experiments, and had fun creating new ways to blow things up over their summers. The boy’s aunt tried getting him to attend summer camps, but gave up after the boy ran away twice and made his way back to Skyfall and Q. 

Q’s interest in computers expanded, and he followed the development of the ARPANET and various computer communications networks with great interest. He was determined to be able to have a job of his own someday, and was already plotting ways he could do it without anyone discovering his identity. The boy thought it was a grand idea, as the secrecy made it seem extra enticing. 

Then one day when the boy was no longer a boy, but a young man of sixteen, everything changed. He decided he was bored with school, and had learned everything he needed to from it, so it was time for them to leave. However, they decided his exit should be something...memorable. Spectacularly so. Which is why one seemingly innocent November evening, in the middle of dinner, all hell broke loose at Eton.

It started with Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock and Roll” blasting over all of the intercoms, which immediately had the teachers scrambling in an attempt to stop it and the students laughing. Then, fireworks began going off from the middle of the track field. A minute later, fire alarms began going off all over campus as smoke bombs detonated. All of this would have been enough, but as a final nail in the coffin of expulsion, copies of a five-page document began circulating. It contained the results of a few years of sneaking into offices and sneaking around campus at night, and Q delving into supposedly safe financial records. There were articles on who was sleeping around with who, which staff members kept alcohol in their desks, and which parents were buying off their student's grades. Also, a detailed record of how the president and a few members of the board were funneling thousands of pounds into their personal accounts. The young man and Q were rather proud of it. 

By the time the dust settled, the young man and his friend were laughing in a private room of a train car on their way to London with Q dressed in his ‘man with a skin condition’ disguise that showed only his eyes. They had discovered everyone was too polite to ask questions. They already had a ground floor flat rented via reply to a newspaper add, in a ridiculously expensive area of town. Not that the young man cared about spending his inheritance. Q had insisted on the location, stating that as long as they were very near a government headquarters- MI6 was only a few blocks away in this case- he would be able to sort out how to ‘borrow’ their internet connection for his computers. Once he had it, he was certain he would be able to make plenty of money. He hadn’t achieved access at Eton, but he’d read all about it and he was thrilled at the possibilities. 

The young man and his friend spent the next month settling into their flat and getting it set up the way they liked it. It was a small, one bedroom flat with a bathroom and one room that was both a kitchen and sitting room, but they loved it. They got a television, and Q set up his computer area, and they learned to cook using recipe books and blackened everything for a while, but it was still perfect. The young man’s aunt had decided to give up on trying to control him, so she moved to Switzerland with her new husband and that was the last they heard of her. It was rather simple to falsify the young man’s documents so that he was eighteen on paper, and that was all anyone cared about if they cared to check. Which really, aside from their landlord, no one did.

Their first Christmas on their own was something extra special. They put up a small tree and decorated it, and even though he couldn’t eat himself Q spent hours cooking a small cornish hen with dressing, several sides, and baking an apple pie. The boy was not allowed to help, as Q said it was part of his gift. Instead, he spent the time playing the new video game Q had created, which was the other part of his gift. After dinner, they watched A Christmas Carol on tv while cuddled together on the sofa in the soft glow of fairy lights from the tree. 

“I have been wondering something, James,” Q began once the film had ended. “Where is death?” 

“You mean what?” The young man wondered if Q was referring to the ghosts, or the hypothetical death of Tiny Tim. 

“No. I know _what_ death is. It is ceasing to breathe, or ceasing to function. To stop existing. I want to know _where_ death is. As in when the poets say, ‘when I have gone to death.’” 

“You mean where do you go when you die? I don’t know, Q.” The young man’s tone was wistful, as he thought of his parents. 

“Well what do you think? I have read extensively on the topic, but I do not truly understand it. You told me once that I can not die. But if I can not die, what will happen to me when _you_ die? How will I find you in death? Can you, perhaps, become a ghost and stay with me?” 

“I don’t know if ghosts are real, Q,” the boy pointed out, hugging his friend closer. “But if I could, I would stay with you forever. This is an awfully sad conversation to have on Christmas isn’t it?” he added in a light tone, trying to cheer Q up even though truthfully his heart was heavy thinking about it. “I’m still young. You don’t need to worry about it yet.” 

“I can not help it. I do not like knowing that one day you will go somewhere that I can never go myself,” Q murmured into the young man’s hair. 

“Yeah, I hate the idea too,” the young man admitted. In truth, he didn’t know what to believe about life after death. He wanted to believe in a heaven, and that his parents were there, but somehow he couldn’t convince himself it was true. “I’ll just have to live forever, I guess,” he joked. 

“Yes,” Q agreed, holding his friend close. “Yes, that is a good plan.” And they watched the lights of the tree dance until the young man fell asleep. 

The New Year rang in 1987, which the young man thought was a wonderful time to be living in London. He found the city thrilling, especially after growing up in the middle of nowhere and then mostly staying on Eton’s campus grounds. It was bursting with life and excitement, and he wanted to experience it all. Unfortunately, he also needed to get a job as they’d used his entire year’s allowance on the deposit and first few payments on the flat. He didn’t want to do anything boring, so he took a position as security for a local night club. The manager had nearly laughed him out of the office, but said James could have the job if he could beat the bouncer in a fight. The man wasn’t laughing for long. 

Q insisted he could help pay for things soon, but he was still in the process of sorting out how to get an internet connection into the flat. He’d managed to find access to the internet cables leading to MI6 via the underground access door for city workers just outside their flat, and he was working on the logistics of splicing into it. He tinkered and sent the young man out for materials for days, all the while grumbling about the lack of accessible wireless internet, which was _clearly_ going to become a thing but wasn’t widely available yet, and he was going to have to work on that issue. Still, he was happy to have something to do for himself rather than simply wait around in the boy’s room at school.

It was, in short, a wonderful time for both of them. The young man would work in the evenings until late at night, and he enjoyed his job mostly because it afforded him such an excellent opportunity to observe people. He enjoyed studying people’s behaviors very much, and Q enjoyed hearing about what he’d learned. When he got home he could never go right to sleep, so he stayed up talking to Q while he ate something and got ready for bed, and then as was their tradition they would lie in bed tucked up against each other and talk some more until the young man fell asleep. 

“So what happened with the woman who was cheating on her boyfriend? Was she back tonight?” Q asked as he ran his fingers idly through the young man’s hair. 

“Yeah, I got to break up that fight actually. She wanted to be caught, I think. Or at least, see which of them wanted her enough to fight for her. Pretty damn stupid, really. Neither of them were any kind of catch, I don’t think. Though neither was she, I suppose, cheating like that.”

“Do you take offense to her disloyalty, or her stupidity? And what was she looking for, do you think? Was it a sex thing?”

“I don’t care one way or another about her loyalty or stupidity, really. It’s her life. I’m more interested in how the second guy got her to cheat with him. It looked so...easy. He’d been watching women all night, in a calculating sort of way, so I was keeping an eye on him. He settled on her because she looked...unhappy. She was all dressed up, and looked beautiful, and her boyfriend wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was more interested in the game on the tv above the bar.” 

“So she wanted to feel appreciated,” Q stated uncertainly. He was still sorting out the nuances of human behavior. 

“Something like that, yeah. So I started looking around, and I think I could do it. Get someone to want me instead of who they’re with. I could fuck them out back in the alley too. It wouldn’t be that hard.” He sighed, snuggling a bit closer. 

“But you do not want that, and it upsets you. It should not. You do not need to fuck anyone if you do not wish to,” Q assured. “You are not broken, James. I have heard you masturbating in the shower, so clearly you still function. You do not need to hide in the shower, you know.”

The young man clapped a hand over his eyes and groaned. “You’re so weird. Why were you listening to me in the shower anyways?” 

“I have excellent hearing,” Q huffed. “I was not _listening_ , I merely _heard._ And then I was curious.”

“Why?” 

“I am curious about everything about you. And just because I do not experience sexual desire, does not mean I am not curious about it. Much like yourself, yes?” 

“I just- I spend most nights watching people dancing and kissing and flirting and hooking up, and I like watching it. Sometimes I even get aroused at the idea of it, but I don’t want to actually _do_ any of it. It’s just not normal.” The young man yawned, nearly asleep. 

“Normal is overrated,” Q stated. “Now sleep. I do not think there is anything wrong with you. You are simply special, and I am certain one day you will find your someone.”

So the young man closed his eyes, half-wondering why his friend’s voice sounded a bit sad, and was certain he’d dreamed the brush of wooden lips against his temple. 

Months passed, and they settled into their new life. Q procured a fake ID with the young man’s help, and used it to get a library card. The library, they discovered, was one place he could quite safely go alone as the librarians were too polite to pry about his ‘skin condition,’ and no one paid him much attention there. He went weekly and came home with piles of magazines and journals on computers and programming, science and technology. He also rented books that he read aloud to James on lazy mornings or days when the young man didn’t work. They both especially enjoyed books about detectives and spies, as their interests had progressed to slightly more realistic adventures than pirates and wizards. 

The young man occupied his spare time with a gym membership, and joining a local martial arts studio. He met plenty of people, but he still didn’t make any really close friends as most people his age were in school and he still found most of them too juvenile to truly enjoy hanging out with. He got along better with adults, but generally they thought he was too young to actually befriend. So, he settled for Q as his only close friend. He didn’t actually mind in the slightest. 

He did, however, mind still being so uncertain about sex. One summer night he came home after walking in on a couple shagging in the club’s supply closet, even more bothered about the issue than usual. “That’s it, Q. I’m just going to have to have sex and see if I like it,” he declared as he went to the fridge and opened a beer.

Q turned away from his array of computers- he’d recently started repairing them and was making a fair amount of money at it - though ostensibly James was the one doing the fixing. “I suppose next you will want to eat a raw pigeon or something, just to see if you like it,” he replied in an unimpressed tone.

“It’s not the same thing! Stop being a prick about it,” the young man retorted in irritation.

“Well I suppose it is your life. I simply do not see why you feel the need to experience something you have no real interest in. And I do not wish to see you hurt, or disappointed,” Q replied gently. “Perhaps it is simply something I can not understand, not being human myself.”

“Well hurt or disappointed is better than not knowing if I like it in reality more than in my head, as far as I’m concerned,” the young man sighed resignedly. “I just need to know, Q. I’ve never even kissed anyone, and I do want _that_ at least. The problem is, I don’t really know...how.” He toyed with the label on his bottle.

Q brightened. “We need research! I am great at research, I have read plenty-”

“No books, Q,” the young man cut in. “I know how it physically works, I just don’t know...specifics. I learn better by watching things than reading about them, anyways. So I was thinking...if it won’t bother you…I could rent some movies.”

“Nothing you need will ever bother me, James,” Q stated with certainty. “If you wish to rent some movies featuring people having sex, I will not mind. If you wish to have sex, I suppose I do not mind that either,” he concluded, though he still didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“You know, I don’t actually need your permission for everything!” the young man snapped before stomping off to the bedroom and slamming the door.

Q sat there blinking in confusion. They so rarely even disagreed, and he wasn’t sure how to react to the young man’s outburst. All he knew was that his James was upset, and he wanted to find a way to make him happy again. If that took something ridiculous like James having sex he didn’t actually have any desire for, Q would help to make that happen. And then be there for what he suspected was the inevitable fallout. He got on his going out clothing, and headed out the door. He had a video rental store to track down.

The next morning, the young man shuffled out of the bedroom and wandered over to flop onto the sofa. He looked over at Q, who was seated on the other end reading a book, guiltily. “I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he mumbled, picking at an invisible bit of string on his pajama bottoms. 

“I am glad. I did not enjoy the experience. It made me feel sad,” Q replied.

“Do you always have to be so damned honest? Now I feel even worse.” 

“I suppose I could lie, but I do not see the benefit,” Q shrugged. “I have something that will make you feel better.” He reached down and picked up a large plastic bag, and then dumped its contents onto the coffee table. 

“Holy shit, did you rent the entire adult section?” The young man laughed as a pile of videos tumbled out. He reached out and picked one up. “ _For Your Thighs Only..._ Seriously? _How The West Was Hung...Sex Wars Episode IV: A New Hole..._ is that supposed to have an actual plotline?” He was both intrigued and slightly embarrassed all at once. And surprised at the little flutter of affection in his stomach at the knowledge that Q would go rent porn for him. 

“Well I was not sure what you wanted. There was quite a variety, and I wanted to get an assortment of gender and sexual practice combinations, as I was uncertain what you would prefer. You have never indicted whether you are more attracted to males or females,” Q pointed out. 

“I dunno, both I suppose if we’re talking about thinking people are hot. I think I’d enjoy kissing anyone, really. Maybe if I watch some sex, I’ll be able to decide who I’d like to have it with?” 

“I hope so, I do not like to see you so upset over something like this. I simply do not see what is wrong with not wanting to have sex with anyone. But if it is important to you, it is important to me. Which would you like to start with? This one seems rather basic,” Q suggested as he held up a video titled simply, _Deep Throat._

“Yeah, okay. This _is_ okay, right? I don’t want to make you feel weird. I mean, I know guys watch porn together and all, but usually everyone in the room has a cock that can get hard.”

“Do not worry, I will not feel bad that I cannot achieve an erection. I can not imagine I would even if I _had_ a cock. I have no interest in sex. But I will consider the kissing. I am curious about kissing. I will make you toast and coffee while you start the movie,” Q said as he got up and made his way to the kitchen. 

“I didn’t know even thought about kissing,” the young man replied curiously as he put the movie into the VCR and turned on the TV. He wondered who Q wanted to kiss, and felt an unexpected surge of jealousy at the idea. Followed immediately by a sense of sadness, because it would probably never be able to happen since no one Q might’ve seen while out could ever know his true nature. 

“I just think it sounds nice,” Q hedged. “But this is not about me, it is about you. Watch your porn, James,” he ordered teasingly as he prepared breakfast. 

It was an interesting day, to say the least. The young man had the day off, so they watched their way through the entire collection. Well, at least they tried. 

“Is this doing anything for you? Because it simply looks unsanitary to me,” Q pointed out, his head cocked in confusion as he eyed the tangle of sweaty limbs in the first film which turned out to contain an orgy. 

“Maybe there are too many bodies or something...I think one person at a time is a better place to start,” the young man replied. 

“I do not think she is enjoying that,” Q mused during the second film. 

“Yeah, no...next.” 

They laughed their way through the Star Wars parody, which was too ridiculous to possibly be considered sexy. 

“You enjoy this one,” Q observed as two men on screen were kissing against the side of a barn, their hands wrapped around each other’s slick erections. “You are getting hard. It will not bother me if you wish to masturbate.” 

“They look like they’re into each other, so yeah, this is better. I like watching it, but it’s like...just a physical reaction. I don’t actually feel like jerking off. I mean I could, but I wouldn’t be thinking about fucking one of those guys. Maybe kissing one of them, or feeling their skin against mine, but I don’t want to have sex with either of them. See, I’m a freak.” 

“You are _not_ ,” Q insisted. “If you are going to sit here and disparage yourself, I am taking all of these and returning them.” He tackled James without warning and began tickling him, a sure method to cheer him up since the age of eleven.

“I’ll be good,” the young man laughed once he could breathe again. Rather than letting Q go, he kept an arm around his friend’s waist and snuggled in to rest his head against Q’s shoulder. Q didn’t seem to mind, so he told himself to get over worrying if it was weird as they watched the rest of the films cuddled up on the couch. He wondered, secretly, if it was odd that he enjoyed Q’s closeness more than anything he saw on screen. 

A few nights later the young man dressed in his tightest pair of jeans, a plain white t-shirt and a leather jacket, and declared he wasn’t coming back until he’d at least kissed someone. Maybe more, if he got lucky. He decided to start with a man, since he figured a man would be more likely to take charge of things and he didn’t really know what he was doing. Also, at least it was anatomy he was familiar with. He left with what he hoped was a confident stride, and tried to shake off the discomfort of Q’s worried expression. It was _his_ life, and he didn’t need Q’s approval. He _didn’t._ He took a deep breath and set off for Heaven, a popular gay club.

The young man came back to their flat at four am to find Q waiting for him on the sofa. The expression on Q’s face- which never ceased to amaze the young man is it really shouldn’t be so expressive when made of wood- was one of relief and concern.

“I am glad you are home,” Q offered as he held out his hand. 

“I suppose you want all of the sordid details,” the young man yawned tiredly as he shrugged out of his jacket and came over to the sofa. He sat down sideways and draped his legs over Q’s lap and then wrapped his arms around his friend’s waist. He sighed and rested his head on Q’s shoulder as familiar, welcome fingers began carding through his hair. 

“Only if you wish to share them. I am simply happy you are home and safe.” 

“It wasn’t dangerous, Q. I’m going for people close to my age, and you know I could take anyone my size down if I wanted. And I know all about safe sex. Not that I had sex, exactly. It was just some kissing and hand jobs in his car. He was nice. Really hot. It was...okay. I mean, I didn’t hate it. Maybe I was just too nervous to really get into it. I was thinking too hard, you know?” 

“Perhaps. Did you like the kissing, at least?” 

“That part was nice,” the young man admitted, thankful Q couldn't see him blush. “He tasted like whiskey at first, and then like...something else, something good. Like himself, I suppose. And he was warm, and strong, and he smelled good.” 

“Ah,” Q mused wistfully. “I do wish I could experience tastes and smells. But you did not like the rest?”

“It was...interesting. But it didn’t make me want more, really. I didn’t actually get off, but I’m not sure he noticed. He was a bit drunk. I think I’m going to need to try it a few more times, just to be sure.”

“If you must,” Q replied resignedly. “Why do you suppose you liked the kissing especially?” 

“I dunno...it felt nice. Breathing together, being that close to someone’s skin. It felt good. But most people want more than just that,” he murmured, already half asleep. 

“Come James, it is time to get you to bed,” Q said fondly. “Soon I do not believe I will be able to lift you,” he added as he scooped his friend up and carried him off to tuck him into bed. He was going to leave, but young man made a displeased noise and held onto him.

“Stay,” he mumbled.

So Q stayed. Once the young man was fully asleep, he pressed his wooden lips into his James’ hair. “If only I had breath, and skin,” he whispered. But the young man was asleep, and so he did not hear.

Over the course of that summer, the young man spent many late nights out while satisfying his curiosity about all things sexual. He never stopped blushing when Q would stick condoms and little packets of lube in his pockets so he would be safe and comfortable, and he would always complain that he knew how to take care of himself, but secretly he enjoyed the feeling of being cared for.

He always returned to Q, and they snuggled up to talk over the experience no matter how late- or early in the morning- it was. The young man worked his way through oral sex with other young women and men, and using hands only, and finally penetrative sex. This last he liked better with men if he was the one on the receiving end, because he could just focus on the feeling of another person being so wonderfully close to him and he didn’t need to worry about maintaining an erection. Still, he never came to crave it or to desire more. Possibly, he thought, he could come to really enjoy it if it was with someone he knew well and even loved. But with random strangers, he concluded that sex itself really didn’t interest him.

One night when he was nearly seventeen, he came home and informed Q that the experiment was over. “I guess I’m just not into sex. At least I know for sure now, though,” he declared as he sipped on a beer and leaned against Q’s side on the sofa.

“You do not sound as satisfied as I would expect,” Q replied cautiously. He did not wish to upset the young man, but he thought his friend would be happier about resolving the issue that had caused him so much concern.

“I’m glad I know for sure, it’s just...I don’t think most people will understand. It’s not as if there are a lot of people who don’t like sex, or at least no one who admits it. It’s half of what the guys at work talk about. I just...I was different enough without this too.”

“Different is good. There is no reason you should be like everyone else. You are special.”

“I’m glad I have you, Q. Especially since it turns out I have more fun kicking your arse at video games than getting naked with anyone else,” he joked, poking Q in the side. “You won’t ever leave me, will you?”

“Of course not,” Q assured.

“Good. I’ll be right back, and then you can show me your new computer game.” The young man clapped Q on the shoulder and then headed for the loo.

Q watched him go. “But you are getting older, and I am not, and some day you will leave me,” he said sadly, and too softly to be heard.

The year the young man turned seventeen was an especially good one. Having established his feelings regarding sex, he settled into accepting it wasn’t something that interested him and shifted his energies to things that did. Such as becoming a well-known and difficult-to-beat poker player at a few games he found through working at the club. He enjoyed the challenge of discovering a tell, and was devastatingly good at discovering them. And at masking his own.

He also enjoyed helping Q design new computer games, which Q intended to sell one day once he perfected them. Also, Q was teaching him about computer programming and how to use the network Q had finally succeeded in hacking. Most of it was too complicated for his liking, but he wanted to at least understand it.

Also, the young man _loved_ his new job. He was hired by a private investigator who was so impressed that James marked him in the club he offered him a position in his firm on the spot. He was very, very good at it. His youth made him far less likely to be suspected, and he had a knack for getting into a believable character. The fact that he had Q helping him out with his tech didn’t hurt either.

For his part, Q was thrilled to have a practical way to help the young man with his job. He immediately dove into researching and improving the available technology. He was appalled at the range of the bugs, and the quality of the video cameras and recording devices. He upgraded their walkie-talkies and got them mobile phones, so they could stay in contact while James was out on assignment. He sat at one of his computers and entered any relevant data into spreadsheets and documents so that the young man always had thorough sets of data to turn in. It was quite thrilling for both of them, since they got to play spies and get paid for it.

It was a good life, but as enjoyable as it was the young man still wasn’t entirely satisfied with it. A few months before he turned eighteen, during one of their late nights spent talking while lying in bed, James declared that he was going to enlist in the Navy after his birthday. Then he held his breath and waited anxiously to see how Q would take the news.

Q tightened his grip around the young man’s waist. “I knew you would not stay with me forever, but that does not make the idea of you leaving any easier. Why the Navy?”

“Closest thing I’ll get to being a pirate,” the young man joked, but his voice was tight. He didn’t want to leave Q, but he wanted to _do_ something with his life. Something important.

“You will make an excellent soldier,” Q sighed resignedly. “No doubt you will be an officer in no time. I am certain no one else will be enlisting who already possesses your unique skill set. And you are very brave, and very loyal. England will be lucky to have you as her protector. But I will miss you so very, very much.”

“Well I won’t be gone forever, Q. I’ll come back on leave, and we can write letters and I’ll call you whenever I can. I promise. And I’m not leaving _yet_. I still have a few months.” He sat up and pulled off the chain with the key on it he always wore around his neck. Q didn’t actually need to be wound for another day, but he felt the need to do something that showed how important Q was to him. He unbuttoned Q’s shirt and slid the key into place so he could turn it. “You’ll still be here when I come back, right?” He watched his friend’s face carefully.

“Always, my James,” Q replied, reaching a hand out to rest it over the young man’s heart.

Something that had been fluttering at the edges of James’ consciousness clicked into place, and his hand hesitated on the key for a moment. His heart beat steadily against the solid wood of Q’s hand. “Thank you,” he managed shakily. What he thought, but didn't say, was _I love you._ Because how could one say that to a person who wasn’t technically a person at all? He had no idea if Q even _could_ fall in love, let alone return the feeling. Still it was true, and the truth of it settled into his heart and curled up there to fill him with warmth. It felt like a lovely sort of secret.

The next few months saw most of their free time spent preparing the young man for enlisting. They researched the history, the current operations, and the branches of the Royal Navy. The idea of the Fleet Air Arm was especially appealing, as learning to fly sounded thrilling to James despite Q declaring he’d much rather stay safely on the ground. Still, Q spent hours reading up on military planes and flight technology, and helped quiz his friend on things he would likely need to learn.

If Q thought the young man was behaving strangely, he didn’t say. Possibly, James reflected, because the new and butterfly-inducing feeling didn’t actually change anything between them. They still snuggled on the sofa, and played video games, and life went on as usual. Still, the young man couldn’t help that it might not be normal to be so close to- and so dependent on- one person. It was very nearly frightening, how much he felt about someone who technically wasn’t even alive in the traditional sense. He didn’t tell Q, but part of the reason he wanted to join the Navy was to get away and find out if he could make it on his own. He needed to be sure what he had was what he wanted, and not just the only thing he knew. Still, he knew he would miss Q’s constant presence fiercely.

The young man, who was finally considered a man now though he suspected he hadn’t actually been anything like a child for years, went out and enlisted on his eighteenth birthday. He returned home to Q with his instructions for medical testing and everything he had to do before he was officially accepted, and a date that was suddenly frighteningly close to head off to basic training if he was. He was excited and nervous all at once, because the idea was suddenly so very real.

Q greeted his friend with a homemade chocolate cake and eighteen candles, and a meal of garlic bread and lasagna. He was very proud of the helium balloons blanketing the entire ceiling, as well.

The man couldn’t help but smile at Q’s pleased expression. “I’m eighteen, not eight, Q,” he pointed out as he good-naturedly accepted the party hat he was presented with. 

“Just because society has arbitrarily decided you are a man now, does not mean you can not still have fun. Balloons are fun. Especially when I have made you this to shoot them down with,” Q added as he proudly held out a small dart gun.

The man took it excitedly and examined it. “Wow, you’ve really improved the design. It’s so light! Does it still work with air pressure? Still only one dart at a time, I assume.”

“Yes to both. I have made this for you to carry the darts, to make reloading easier.” He picked up a soft black leather bracelet and buckled it onto the man’s wrist. It fit perfectly, and held six small darts. “These are empty, but the points are needles and the cartridges can be filled with whatever you wish, so you could either incapacitate or kill your target if you chose.”

“I’m not sure I want to kill anyone, Q.”

“I am not sure you will have that choice. You have chosen an occupation that may necessitate killing to keep this country- or anyone in danger- safe. I am pleased that you do not want to kill anyone, James, but it is likely you will have to at some point. Will you be alright, if it comes to that? I need to know you will be alright. That you will still be you.” He reached out and took his friend’s hand to hold it between both of his own.

The man looked down at Q’s hands, felt the familiar comfort of their strength, and considered. He imagined looking at another person, and then taking their life. The thought made him feel a bit sick. He tried again, this time imagining someone who was evil, who hurt people or wanted to destroy his country, or who was going to harm Q. He felt a cold sort of shield slide into place in his mind. “I will be alright,” he promised. It was not a voice he recognized.

The evening before the man left was a difficult one for both of them. They knew they would not see each other for months until James finished basic training, and then after that it would be even more rare. They vowed to keep in touch with letters and phone calls as the man was allowed, but it would be the first time they were apart for very long since they met. They were snuggled on the sofa, not watching anything and not talking either, just being together. They had said so much, there wasn’t much comfort left to offer aside from simply being present.

The man was so lost in his thoughts that he jumped when Q shifted to pull a small box out from under the cushion and offer it rather shyly.

“What’s this then?” 

“It is something I made for you. So that you will not forget me.” 

“As if I could ever forget you, dumbass,” the man replied, but his tone wasn’t nearly as joking as he’d hoped. He took the box and opened it curiously. Inside was a beautiful silver fob watch, with a wooden carving on the front. He’d never seen one quite like it. He took it out and examined it closely. The carving depicted a pirate ship, sails billowing and flag flying proudly as it rode the waves. “It’s amazing,” he said as he held it up. He ran his finger over the wood, and then his stomach did a little flip as he realized why it looked so familiar. He turned to Q in shock.

“Oh come now, it is not as if I can actually feel. And I do not need that bit to function,” Q assured as he rubbed idly at a spot on his side.

The man pulled Q’s shirt up to reveal a small hollowed out area that had been sanded smoothly. “This is- you actually-”

“Do you not like it?” Q asked worriedly.

It was suddenly nearly too much, how much the man loved his friend and how much he was going to miss him. He tackled Q down onto the sofa and hugged him, burying his face so Q couldn’t see. Wouldn’t guess at his secret. No matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, a few tears still managed to slide down his cheeks. “I love it.”

“It is okay. You will be okay,” Q hushed, running his fingers softly up and down the man’s back. “I will be here when you return, and you will have marvelous adventures and tell me all about them. And we will be okay.” A single tear, that should not have been possible, slid down his wooden cheek. Q held the man close until he slept, and then until he woke again in the morning.

It was nearly three months before they saw each other again. For his part, James was so busy he felt the separation less acutely than he expected but it was still a constant dull ache. He found that despite the demanding nature of the training, it suited him perfectly. He also found people his own age he could actually relate to for the first time ever. Oh sure, many of them were still far more immature and it was shocking how many had never fired more than a BB gun or learned to fight, but they were still mostly of a similar mindset.

It didn’t take long for his instructors to take note of his abilities, especially when it came to marksmanship. The ropes course was almost laughable, as he’d done far more difficult things while scaling walls and the sides of buildings working for the private investigating firm. He’d been doing so much extra working out in preparation that he could easily do more sit ups and push-ups, and run farther, than anyone else in his class. This made for a few jealous fellow recruits, but his performance in hand-to-hand combat made people rather hesitant to do much more than call him a teacher’s pet or other such nicknames behind his back. He graduated at the top of his class, but it felt rather empty since no one was in the stands to see him. 

When the man finally returned home for a short leave before heading off to his permanent station at the Royal Naval Air Station at Yeovilton, Q was waiting anxiously. 

“James! You are back!” Q ran up and scooped his friend up for a hug. “I have missed you.” 

“I missed you too. Sorry we couldn’t talk more but we weren’t allowed many calls,” James replied as he breathed in the familiar scent of his friend and relaxed into the hug. No one had touched him except to fight or clap a hand on his shoulder since he’d left, and he’d missed it. 

“How was it? I got you dinner. Do you want a beer? Did you make any friends? Were your commanding officers impressed? Are you tired? Do you need to sleep first? Are you taller? You look taller.” Q dragged James towards the sofa and the take-out Chinese on the coffee table as he rambled. 

The man laughed and allowed himself to be pulled along. “Calm down Q, I’m fine! It was hard work, but I mostly liked it. I totally kicked everyone’s arse, yeah,” he grinned. “But then, I’m the only one with a genius of a best friend who helped him prepare.”

“As if I had anything to do with your marksmanship or the fact that you spent enough time in the gym to look like a Da Vinci carving,” Q scoffed.

The man ducked his head and tried unsuccessfully not to blush. Apparently the time apart had done nothing to lessen his feelings for Q. “Didn’t think you noticed.”

“I notice everything about you,” Q stated matter-of-factly. “Now, tell me all about it.”

It was a wonderful leave. They talked about what they had done in the other’s absence, and played the new computer games Q had programmed and sold, and stayed up late talking. The time passed quickly, and all too soon they needed to part again. James promised they would talk as much as possible, and then took a deep breath and kissed Q’s cheek for the first time before hurrying out the door.

He was not there to see Q press his fingers against the spot his lips had touched, and smile.

The following eight years passed in much the same manner. James would leave, and then whenever he could, he would return. He learned to fly, and to fight, and to be the perfect soldier. Sometimes they went months without seeing one another, and other times they went a year or more, but every time they were back together it was as if they had never been apart.

Q spent his time immersed in the growing capabilities of the internet, and had it (legally) installed in their flat as soon as possible. He quickly became known online as a shadow, a legend no one was really sure existed, as the original hacker. He never did anything destructive, at least in his opinion. After all, if the secret service agencies of several key countries couldn’t keep him out of their networks he figured he was doing them a favor by showing them security leaks. And it was not as if setting home pages to his anti-virus site _actually_ hurt anything. He made money developing and maintaining websites at first, and then by creating anti-virus software. He needed more work space, so he purchased the entire building and had the other flat on the first floor converted into a work room. The other four flats he continued renting out, and the tenants were so thrilled with the sudden increase in quality of repairs they didn’t comment on the fact that they never actually saw their reclusive landlord for more than a few moments.

Having been there nearly since the internet’s inception, and owing to the fact that he never actually slept, Q gradually grew to a point where he could monitor James’ activities with ease by hacking into military databases. By 1996 he had provided James with a tracking device that enabled him to track his friend's location easily via satellite. In addition, he provided James with a satellite cell phone that could be used to keep them in contact whenever they desired, so that even when they were far apart they didn’t lose their connection.

Whenever he could, James returned home to Q. Every time he expected the love he felt for Q, which he had buried beneath a dedication to Queen and Country, to lessen. It never did. Even when he developed any sort of attraction for a fellow soldier, it counted for nothing once he was snuggled back into Q’s steady arms. It was both maddening and comforting in its familiarity.

When he was twenty-six and home on leave for the last time though he didn’t know it at the moment, the man asked, “Is it strange we still do this?” He was cuddled up in bed with his arms wrapped around Q. “I definitely don’t do this with my other friends,” he pointed out, nuzzling into Q’s hair.

“Oh. Perhaps I simply have not grown out if it,” Q stated, his tone reluctant and sad as he attempted to scoot away. “You do seem more distant than you used to.”

“No!“ James pulled Q back in. “I haven’t grown out of it, either. You’re just more incredible every time I see you, and more impossible. I’m afraid every time I come home that maybe I dreamt it all, that you’ll just a plain wooden doll again, that you can’t be real. But you _are_. Sometimes it just takes a while for me to settle back into being me. Out there I have so much to prove. I have to be what they want. A good soldier, brave, never showing weakness. It’s...an odd transition is all.” He pressed a rare kiss onto Q’s neck because he was too tired to summon the energy to resist.

Q tilted his neck into the kiss happily. He didn’t let himself hope it meant anything more than platonic companionship, but it still felt so very wonderful. “But you are home with me now. You do not need to be anything but my James, with me. I will never think you are weak. I promise.”

“Thank you, Q,” James murmured before falling into an exhausted sleep.

Once he was certain the man was sleeping deeply enough not to be disturbed by movement, Q shifted so he could lay on his side propped up on one elbow. He reached out a hand to run one finger gently over the slight wrinkles at the corners of his friend's eyes, the few freckles and the sun-browned skin. “You are aging, and I am not. It frightens me. I do not wish for you to leave me,” he whispered. Still, he knew it was inevitable. It was odd, he supposed, that most people were afraid of death while he was afraid of never being able to die.

James returned to the flat a mere three days after he’d left, surprising Q.

“James! You have returned early! Is everything allright?” Q asked, jumping up from his computer station and running over to give his friend a hug.

“Everything is fine. More than fine. I’ve been recruited into MI6! I begin orientation and then covert operations training in a week. I’m going to be a real spy, Q!” He bounced excitedly on his toes.

“That is wonderful, James! A spy! I am going to need to upgrade my presence in their system and check out the equipment they plan to send you out with. No doubt it could use some upgrading, and it will not do to send you out there unprepared.”

“I’m sure their equipment is fine, Q,” James said with an eye roll.

“Fine is not good enough! Besides, it can not possibly hurt to have two handlers,” Q pointed out matter-of-factly.

“I just wish...you’d be amazing there,” James sighed, going to grab a beer out of the fridge and hop up onto the counter to swing his legs.

“Just because no one can see me, does not mean that I can not help. How long is your orientation period?”

“A few months at least, why?”

“Well then, it appears I have a few months to convince MI6 they want to let me work as a remote tech support employee,” Q replied with a smirk in his voice. 

In the end, it took Q only a month to convince a flustered Boothroyd- the man who ran the division Q was most interested in- to throw his hands up and declare he apparently had no choice but to give Q the job since he was going to do it regardless. This was after Q sent notes on how to improve most of the newest top-secret weapons, including having corrected a few grammatical errors in the preliminary reports. M herself was a bit of a tougher sell, especially since Q declined to give out any personal information and no one was able to ascertain his physical location or how he had gained access to the MI6 network in the first place. She finally agreed after Q remotely upgraded all of their firewalls and sent reliable coordinates of one of MI6’s most wanted criminals- discovered via a buried online purchase of weapons- which led to his capture. He was given the title of outside consultant, which was the best they could come up with especially considering the fact he declined to accept any sort of salary.

“They’re a bit terrified of you, aren’t they?” James asked during one of his free evenings six weeks into his training. He slipped back to their flat as often as possible when he had free time.

“Well of course. They are not idiots, and if I had nefarious designs I could certainly take the entire organization down. Luckily, I am on your side,” Q replied as he examined the earwig James had brought him. “This is a complete disaster. So conspicuous it is a security nightmare. You are meant to be covert, not obvious!”

“I’m sure you’ll fix it,” the man replied fondly. “I’m nearly finished, you know. I’m on to covert operations training. It’s amazing, really. I’m finally working with people who are all intelligent enough to bother with.”

“And just as dangerous as yourself. They are turning you into a weapon, you realize.”

“Obviously. But I’m going to do some real good here, Q. I can tell. And it’s what I want. Aren’t you happy for me?”

“I am. All I want is for you to be happy. And I am pleased I can help ensure that you stay safe. I just want you to still be you when you return to me,” Q stated honestly.

“Well if I’m not, I’m sure you can fix me as well,” the man assured. “Okay, time to get back. We get to learn all about interrogation techniques.” He gave Q a clap on the shoulder, and then headed out the door.

Q stared after him in concern and could not help but think of the agents’ files he’d spent the past few days reading. Pages upon pages of disturbing psych evals, and agents with post traumatic stress disorders who ended up taking on suicide missions rather than facing the struggle of learning to live normal lives again. “Ah James, I only hope you are correct.”

The man finished the introductory period in a record eight weeks, and received his first assignment at the British embassy in Kingston, Jamaica. He was both excited and nervous- not that he would admit that last to anyone but Q. He already had a reputation for being cool and unaffected by his emotions, and that was the way he planned to keep it.

“I wish you could come with me,” James said as Q helped him pack. Just because he was used to being apart from Q at this point didn’t mean he liked it.

“I would like that as well, but it is not possible at this point. I do not have the resources I need set up in Jamaica, and it would be too difficult to acquire them quickly and remain unnoticed. Next time. I will determine a location I can set up a successful base and build it up secretly. Then, I will ensure you are stationed there. I do not like the idea of you going on these dangerous missions without me waiting at home with a medical kit.” He took out a small box and handed it over.

“I’m guessing these aren’t my standard-issue communication devices,” James smirked as he pulled out a tiny covert earwig and a gorgeous watch. “You’re very concerned with my keeping time, aren’t you?” He slipped it on admiringly.

“The earpiece will allow us to communicate no matter where you are. I am afraid you will need to wear one in each ear since you will need MI6’s as well. The watch is equipped with GPS so I can track you. It is waterproof, and doubles as an alternate communicator if you lose the earpiece. Just push this button.” Q demonstrated.

“It’s perfect, thanks. So...one last evening of watching crap telly and seeing if I can finally beat you at chess?” The man tried to keep his tone casual and upbeat, but wasn’t entirely successful. Everything was changing, and rather quickly. It felt like an ending of sorts.

“I would like that very much,” Q replied. He suspected it was the last evening he would spend with this version of James. Still, no matter how the job changed his friend, whether the evils he encountered hurt or hardened him, Q would always be here to welcome him home. To offer hugs and listen and make sure he ate, and fix him if necessary. To be here still, even if he could not. That was what love was, he supposed.

It took nearly two years for Q to get the flat in Rome set up, and then to mess about with orders enough to be certain James was transferred there. He even suffered the mild indignity of being mailed there in a box which was dragged in by the housekeeper he’d hired, with orders to leave it unopened. He paced the flat anxiously, waiting for James to arrive so he could show it off. It had been an eventful few years, and more than once he’d found cause to be grateful that he didn’t need to sleep. Looking after a secret agent was definitely a full-time job, especially adding on his other consulting duties for MI6.

Despite talking to each other daily, they only managed to see each other twice the entire time and the absence was wearing on both of them. Q ached to be there to hold his friend, to offer him comfort after some of the more difficult missions. The less said about the entire Cuban situation the better. Q hated hearing the tension in James’ voice as he spoke of the weapons intercepted, the drugs and the blood money, all of the corruption and abuse and death he encountered. All of the personas he assumed and was in danger of losing himself to, all with no room to show a moment’s weakness in the face of it all. No, Q decided, his James could not be out there alone anymore. And if he found someone else more human he wanted to come home to Q would understand- it would gut him but he would understand. But until then, Q was going to stay. 

When James finally arrived late in the evening, he was jet-lagged and exhausted and had a large bandage wound around the palm of his left hand. He didn’t have the energy to do much more than tell Q he would check the place out tomorrow, and he was happy to be home, before falling into a deep sleep snuggled into Q’s side on the sofa while still wearing his all of his clothing. 

James opened his eyes to beams of light falling softly across the soft blanket he was wrapped in, and for a few moments he didn’t realize here he was. He tensed, ready for a fight, when Q’s soft laugh brought him back to reality. 

“You reminded me of when you were a boy, just then. You used to pass out while we were talking, and then wake up adorably confused as to how you ended up in bed,” Q murmured gently so as not to startle his friend further. “I barely managed to carry you in here, actually. How are you feeling? You do not need to check in until tomorrow, you can go back to sleep if you wish.” 

“I don’t want to move but some of us actually have bladders,” he mumbled as he stretched. “Bathroom?” 

“Right through that door. I will make you coffee and pancakes. Apple, just the way you like them. Take a bath if you want as well.” Q ran his fingers through his friend’s hair fondly before slipping out of bed and heading for the kitchen. He supposed that if he had a heart, it would be beating slightly more quickly than normal. 

When the man walked into the kitchen in comfy clothes with his hair still wet, he already felt like he was returning to himself. He paused and watched as Q slid a pancake onto a plate and the sense of _home_ hit him so viscerally that he nearly stumbled. He took a steadying breath and allowed himself to believe it was real. “That isn’t a bathtub, it’s a bloody pool. I love it,” he commented as he slid into the spot with the plate of pancakes and steaming cup of coffee before he could do something ridiculous like wrap his arms around Q from behind and nuzzle into those tempting curls. 

“I am pleased you approve. I did my best to create a place you would enjoy returning to.” Q carried the rest of the pancakes over and set them down before sitting so close their knees brushed. 

“It worked. You’re amazing, you know that right?” He made an appreciative noise as he sipped the gloriously dark coffee. “The problem will be getting me to leave.” 

“Once your mission is assigned you will. You are brave, and loyal, and good, and you will leave despite knowing you will need to face- and do- terrible things. That is why you are so special, my James.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” James replied, though hearing Q say those things made his stomach flip pleasantly. 

“I am not trying to _get_ anywhere. I am merely being honest. Now eat your breakfast so I can tend to that hand. Then, I want to show you the rest of the flat.” Q punched James in the shoulder good-naturedly, and felt happier than he had in years. They were together again, and it was everything he wanted. Well, nearly. He tried not to stare at his friend’s lips or wish he could actually _feel_ the way humans did. 

The following three years were nearly perfect. James went on missions, and Q monitored him with his ever-improving resources. The man became famous for his ability to get information out of targets and targets’ significant others, regardless of gender or sexual orientation. His fellow agents were salivating to discover his secret, and said he must have had a magical cock. Only Q and M knew the truth. That he rarely slept with anyone, and he got his information by simply lying in bed cuddling his informants while actually _listening_ to them. The fact that he could prove he didn’t just want sex by his lack of an erection definitely didn’t hurt.

The man was successful and steadily rose through the ranks of MI6, and it seemed everyone was impressed with and/or jealous of him. He had it made, as far as most people were concerned.

Q wasn’t most people. He was the only one who saw the toll all of the senseless cruelty and injustice and death took upon the man he quietly loved. He was there for the nightmares and the rages and the silent, wracking sobs when James came home after shutting down a child trafficking ring. He watched as his James grew into someone wholly unrecognizable in the field, into a man who was cold and untouchable and utterly, lethally terrifying. 

Q’s reputation was much the same, especially after he remotely slammed shut the emergency exits of a terrorist base and let its five inhabitants burn. He couldn't even bring himself to feel any sort of remorse, especially after the group had temporarily captured and tortured James. The fact that he proceeded to essentially eradicate the existence of any known surviving members cemented his legend. People whispered of his existence as a thing that went bump in the night, and he didn’t bother to correct the assumption. 

If anyone saw them on days and nights when they were together in their flat, the observer wouldn’t have believed they could possibly be the same people. When it was just them, James would snuggle into Q and simply breathe and allow himself to be held for hours. They would laugh and tease and play video games and get into flour fights while making cookies in the kitchen. Together, in the haven of their flat, they were simply…themselves. And they loved one another in silence. 

They returned to London in the fall of 2003, when the man was promoted to work as a Mission Specialist within the Black Ops division. Q had slowly weeded out their renters so that now only members of MI6 rented out the other four flats in the building, which was helpful since they weren’t suspicious of the added security measures or the palm-coded entry Q added. 

Less than a year later, M personally invited James to become a Double-Oh agent. She had grown rather fond of him over the years, not that she would ever admit it to anyone. She recognized that there was something different about him- an added resilience, a carefully-guarded softness locked away beneath his calculating persona. Whatever it was, she knew it would keep him from going bad. She also hoped that whatever it was, he wouldn't lose it. Personally she had her suspicions, but she wasn’t about to mention them. 

She also had a soft spot for Q, despite never having met him. After so many years, he was firmly in her trust though she knew little about him for certain. The one thing she did know, though he did his best not to belie any connection, was that as much as he worked for the organization the reality was that Q’s true loyalty belonged to Bond. There was no way Bond was just _that lucky_ on his missions, and his equipment tended to return with a few extra enhancements which he then passed on to Boothroyd. There was also the timing of Q showing up just about the time Bond was recruited. She didn’t know if the two men were friends or lovers, or if they even saw each other since no one but Bond was ever seen leaving his flat and the few times she’d checked there was only one life reading present. Still, it was clear Bond depended on Q and she feared what would happen if either of them fell in the line of duty. It was a precarious balance and she knew it, but she also knew she had no choice but to accept it. 

As usual, the night before James left on his mission-this time to kill a traitor to MI6 and his contact to become a 00 agent- he put up with Q helping him pack and triple-checking all of his equipment. “You know, I think I’ve got the hang of this whole packing thing by now,” he drawled as he watched Q fuss over the fastenings of a gun holster. Truthfully, it made him happy that Q still cared about him this much. 

“I simply want to be sure you have everything you need, James. Extra things, in fact. I despair over your lack of respect for my equipment, honestly. No doubt you will destroy half of this,” Q replied with a pointed glare. 

“I told you, I _had_ to use that motorcycle to blow up the compound wall or I’d never have been able to rescue that idiot diplomat’s kid!” the man protested with a grin.

“Fine. But next time, I am not equipping it with laser technology as it is clearly a waste of time and money,” Q retorted as he slipped a few knives into the lining of the briefcase.

“Come on Q, I love lasers!” James batted his eyelashes at his friend.

“Save it for your marks, agent. Your puppy dog eyes have no effect on me,” Q lied.

“I don’t belieeeeve youuuuu!” James grabbed Q around the waist and dragged him over to the sofa.

“Not fair! Your arms are ridiculous and I can not grow any stronger than I already am,” Q laughed, kicking ineffectively. He allowed himself to be wrangled into their preferred snuggling position and settled, tucking his head into his friend’s neck. “You are going to be okay, are you not?”

“Of course I am. You’re watching out for me, right? Helped design my new car and all of my equipment, and verified the intel yourself. I’ll be fine.”

“We have gone over the files of Double-Oh missions. They are far more dangerous, and involve far more killing, than you are used to. You will need to kill these two men directly. No blowing up the building or forcing them to drive off the road. You can always change your mind.”

“I don’t want to. I’m doing something good out there, something not many people can do. Besides, you know I love the thrill of it. There’s nothing like a car chase, or a gun fight, to feel really alive.”

“I would not know,” Q replied tightly. He was still sensitive about the fact that he was not technically even alive. “And I know you love it, but I am still afraid you could be killed. I do not wish to lose you, my James.”

“Hey. I’ll come back to you, Q. I promise.” The man pressed a kiss into his friend’s hair, and they sat silently together and watched the flat grow dark.

It was a very long time before the man kept his promise.

He did not return until after he had been given the title of 007, and killed many men, and fallen in love with a woman who reminded him very much of Q. She was brilliant, and sarcastic, and funny, and had gorgeous dark hair. He was tortured for her, and would have given up the service for her. He still didn’t enjoy sex for its own sake, but with her he enjoyed it because it gave her pleasure. He was planning to tell her about Q, was certain she would have understood. But then, she died. Killed herself, really, to keep him safe, even though it turned out she was betraying him all along.

After that he did not go home, even though Q begged him to return. He went after the man responsible for her death. He killed more men, and held a friend until he died. He was reckless and angry and hurting. He didn’t even talk to Q about it, though he kept their communication open so Q heard everything. He did not reply, but Q’s steady voice in his ear kept him sane. He fell asleep, fitfully, to Q reading him familiar stories. Still, he did not stop until he had caught the man responsible for Vesper’s death. He told M he was over the woman, that she meant nothing, and then he walked home to Q in the London snow.

When Q opened the door for his friend, he did not speak. He had done enough of that. He simply hugged him close, and then led James into the bathroom. He helped James out of his clothes, and into a steaming bath where he washed the man’s hair and petted it. When the water cooled, he wrapped the shivering man in a fluffy robe and led him off to bed. He wrapped his arms around his James, and kissed the back of his neck, and waited. 

The light in the room was hazy and golden before James began to speak. “Sorry I’m late,” he whispered, turning around to rest his head on Q’s chest and listen to the calming whir of gears. 

“I am not angry with you. Frustrated perhaps, but never angry. I understand why you needed to go after those men.” Q ran his fingers soothingly up and down his friend’s back. “I am sorry you lost her,” he added. He’d said it before but he felt the need to say it in person. “Do you think you will meet her again, someday, in death?” The thought made him jealous. He would have shared James in life if it made his friend happy, but the idea of death still troubled him. 

“I don’t know, Q. I’m still not sure what to believe about life after death.”

“But you hope so.”

“Everyone hopes that, I guess. That we’ll see people we’ve lost. I just don’t know if it’s real.”

“There is _something._ There must be. Or if there is nothing, you will still get to share that with her. You will not be left behind.” Q tightened his grip on James. “I was afraid you were going to die and leave me. That you would never...that you would not know...” He had been thinking for months about how to tell James he loved him, but he still didn’t know how to explain it in a way that made sense. He knew it was strange, possibly even freakish, a _thing_ like himself being in love with a human. That the reverse was possible was even more unlikely.

“Know what, Q?” the man asked, his pulse speeding up. He knew Q loved him though they’d never said as much to each other. Q’s nervous tone didn’t sound like something as simple as the love between family and friends though. Oddly, it had taken falling in love with Vesper to realize why the feeling was so wonderfully familiar. He had supposed explaining the fact that he was also in love with his mechanical best friend was going to be problematic, but they’d figure it out. They hadn’t had the chance. He blinked back the stinging in his eyes. 

“That I...that I love you, No, that I am in love with you, which is another thing entirely.” Q waited anxiously for a response. If his heart could beat faster it would have, and he worried nervously at the fuzzy material of James’ robe.

James propped himself up to look down at Q. “Well that’s a fucking relief or it would’ve been really awkward when I said the same thing,” he grinned. He had no idea he could still feel this happy after everything that had happened over the past few months.

“What?” Q looked up at the man in shock.

“I said I love you too, genius.” James flopped back down to snuggle into Q’s chest and pressed his lips against the wood of Q’s neck.

“Even though I am not human?” 

“Obviously. It’s not as if I want to fuck you, and as far as I can tell you don’t have the anatomy or the desire to fuck me either. I don’t think much is actually going to change, really.”

“I suppose you are correct. But I think it will change everything. Now we know. Now I am _allowed_ to love you. I have kept it secret for so very long.” Q ran his fingers through James’ hair, and it did feel different somehow.

“So have I. I thought you might think it was strange. And how long is very long?”

“It _is_ strange. But everything about me is strange and impossible, so why not this too? And I think...in a way I think I have been in love with you since we met.”

“I was eleven! You are strange,” James laughed, digging his fingers into Q’s sides reflexively. “If only you were ticklish you’d be perfect,” he sighed.

“Oh no, this is far better,” Q replied, rolling to pin James beneath him and tickle him until there were tears in the corners of his eyes. Q knew he was the only one who got to see the deadly 007 this way, and it made him love the man all the more for it.

Fortunately, Q understood that loving someone was not enough to automatically fix them. James still woke up with nightmares, and was prone to fits of guilt and self-condemnation, and tended towards taking his anger out on physical objects. Q once sent him off to his closed-off lab room to destroy an entire set of dishes, since he figured it was a better option than sending the man off to blow things up. At least James knew he didn’t have to hide how he was feeling with Q, and so he talked when he wanted to and spent hours snuggled into Q’s arms, and they both knew he was going to be okay. Eventually.

They had a whole week together before James had to leave for another mission, and while many things were still the same between them, in other ways everything was completely different. They had always felt free to touch each other, but now there were added little brushes of fingers and the once-rare kisses were much more frequent. James was thrilled to have someone he could cuddle with and love and not have to worry about the issue of sex at all. What he felt for Q wasn’t remotely sexual, it was simply...emotional.

Q felt exactly the same about James, and it was very nearly perfect. The only thing he wished was that he could feel the way the man’s lips brushed against his wooden neck, or cheek, or mouth, in the same way James did. That he could feel- _really_ feel- the texture of James’ hair as it ran through his wooden fingers. And of course, he was still concerned about the fact that James had new and lovely wrinkles and scars, and he still looked exactly the same.

The next few years were wonderful ones, despite the dangerous missions and the time spent apart. Q’s idea of romance consisted of new weapons and home-cooked steak dinners, which suited James just fine. In return, James did his best to bring home any new tech he discovered in the field, and Q was thrilled. They figured nothing about their relationship was quite normal, so they could just do away with the traditional wine and roses thing. Especially considering that Q couldn’t actually drink. James slowly returned to his usual self, and though many of his scars weren’t visible they were no longer dangerous either. Q kept him grounded, which was probably why he was already on course to be one of the longer lived Double-oh agents only three years in.

Then James was sent to Istanbul to retrieve and protect a stolen hard drive containing the identities of every NATO agent embedded in terrorist organizations around the world. Q was busy complaining about the idiocy that could lead to such a breach and how clearly he needed to help _some_ organizations upgrade their security as the leak hadn’t come from MI6. He was following James’ destructive progress through the marketplace and commenting on the increasing ridiculousness of it. “Seriously James, the rooftops were bad enough but a train?!” He tried not to sound as on edge as he was, but he didn’t like the lack of cover.

“Well it’s not my fault he didn’t jump onto something stationary!” James retorted as he ducked and then hissed in pain when a bullet hit his shoulder.

“Damn it!” Q shouted, scrambling frantically for any way to help but not finding anything that would be of use.

“It’s just my shoulder, Q. I’ll be fine,” James gritted out as he maneuvered the steam shovel to prevent the train from escaping. He jumped out, and was so busy trying to keep from falling off the train and the wind was so loud in his ears that he couldn’t hear much of what Q of Eve said after that. Besides, he was too focused on ignoring the pain in his shoulder and trying to wrestle the hard drive away from his violently struggling target to pay attention to anything else. He was so close...and then there was an unexpected flash of pain, and he was falling.

“James!!” Q screamed, watching his satellite feed in horror. He couldn’t believe M actually told Eve to take the shot. Well, he knew how she thought so he actually _could_ believe it, but James would have completed the mission. He was certain of it. He watched MI6’s earwig short out on his monitor, but his own remained intact. It was an upgraded version and this was its beta test. Luckily it passed. He scrambled to adjust his feed to zoom in on the river. James wasn’t moving, but the screen showing his vitals proved his heart was still beating albeit slowly.

“James can you hear me? Say something, damn it! You can not die, do you hear me?!” Q shouted as he pulled up a separate screen and began frantically ordering a private jet while simultaneously sending out a message to all of his contacts in the area offering an insanely high reward and one personal favor to anyone who got to James and kept him safe until Q arrived. Someone would be able to get there before he could- someone preferably _not_ MI6 given his current mood- and money was a strong motivator. Mere seconds later he had a reply from a woman who could be there in half an hour. James would be okay. He _had_ to be.

Q watched as the current from a bend in the river washed James up mostly onto shore. It didn’t look comfortable with all of the rocks, but at least his head was out of the water. “If your heart stops I’m triggering the shock in that watch, James! And you know defibrillators hurt like hell.” _Please_ , he begged all the gods he didn’t believe in. _Please let him be okay._

A minute later the man coughed and blinked, and then groaned in pain.

“It is okay, shhh, it is okay. Someone will come get you. Someone not MI6, because fuck them right now. We are taking a vacation once you’re better. Talk to me, James!”

“Q...I changed my mind, I don’t feel very alive after that,” James mumbled.

“No, I would not expect so. You scared the hell out of me. I am sorry I am not there, but I am coming. I love you, James,” Q replied in relief. That is, until the man’s heartbeat began to drop steadily.

“Stay awake! Do not go where I cannot follow!” Q cried, feeling helpless and oh so very frightened.

“You’ll find a way, love. You’re more human than anyone I know,” James managed before passing out.

Suddenly _something_ happened to Q, and the something _hurt_. Q had never felt pain before, and he screamed.

When James finally fully returned to consciousness after a confusing period of half-conscious fever dreams of a strange car, and strange hospital, and Q’s wonderfully soothing voice, it was to a room he had never seen before. He could hear the sound of the ocean, and the sun was warm on his skin where it poured through an open window. He blinked in confusion and then startled fully awake and tried to sit up. “Q?” he called, his voice rough from disuse.

“Really? I wait for hours and you wake up when I finally take a break to eat something?” Q called from somewhere outside the door before striding into the room wearing only soft pajama bottoms and holding a plate of fruit. “This whole eating thing is rather irritating is it not? And do not even get me _started_ on the whole bladder situation.” He sat next to James on the bed and grinned as he set the fruit down. “Well, what do you think?”

“You’re alive? How are you alive? I’m not dreaming, am I? Or dead? Am I dead?” James stared at all of that beautifully flawless skin and reached out his hand slowly, then ran ran his fingers down the soft skin of Q’s cheek.

“I really have no idea how I am alive. I suspect it was because you needed me to be, in order to come to you. Or because you called me human. Nothing about me has ever made any sense, so why start trying to make any out of me now?” he joked, leaning into the touch and humming happily. “Oh, you feel warm. I like wam very much, I have decided.”

“Normally I’d say something like ‘the rest of me is just as warm, want to check?’ but somehow that doesn’t quite feel right,” James replied, defaulting to humor as his brain tried to settle into this new reality. It was more than anything he’d dared hope for, but with Q he was re-evaluating his idea of things that are too good to be true.

Q shrugged. “Works for me.” He lifted up the sheet and snuggled in to James carefully, so as not to disturb any of the bandages. He nuzzled into James’ neck and kissed it, and then licked. “I like the way your skin tastes. I believe I will like the way your mouth tastes as well. May I find out?” he asked teasingly.

James’ stomach fluttered pleasantly and he was already so overwhelmed by all of the soft, pliable skin he was softly running his hands over that he didn’t know if he could survive kissing. But neither could he survive without it, so he pulled a willing Q up for what was in some ways their first kiss. It was, technically, awful. But that didn’t make it any less perfect.

“I don’t think I know what to do with my tongue,” Q giggled, kissing the man’s cheeks and forehead and nose instead.

“Well if you’d hold still a minute I’d show you,” James said as he rolled and pinned a gorgeously flushed Q beneath him.

“Do not hurt yourself,” Q scolded. He was feeling too happy to protest overly much, as he knew James was healing well.

“Your face is so expressive now,” James marvelled, running a finger down the crease between Q’s eyebrows and then leaning down to kiss it.

“Is it expressing annoyance? Because if it is, it may have something to do with the fact that you are using your mouth to talk and not to-” Oh yes, this was much better, Q thought smugly as James shut him up with another kiss.

“So you like fruit then?” James asked when they had returned to just snuggling for the moment. “Is it strange, finally being able to taste and smell and feel?”

“It is, but a good sort of strange. I now understand your love of coffee, though I prefer it with a few spoonfuls of sugar. I enjoy sweet things, though I have not had the chance to taste many.”

“Have you tried anything good like tiramisu? Or Champagne?” James asked with a thrill of excitement.

“No, and no alcohol as of yet.”

“Oh Q, this is going to be so much _fun_. Once you let me out of this damn bed, I have so many things I want to show you.” James’ thoughts skipped across a seemingly endless list of firsts he wanted to share. It was a whole new life they had ahead of them, and he couldn’t wait to begin it.

They stayed in the beach house for a few months, and Q informed M that when he returned he would be playing a far more active roll so that _mistakes_ like shooting agents off bridges did not continue. She agreed. Then when MI6 was attacked, they knew they had to go home.

“Look what happens when we are gone. The entire bloody place blows up!” Q groaned as they watched the footage from where they were tangled up together on the sofa.

“Hmmm. Well, ready to go back, Quartermaster?” James asked as he he ran his fingers through Q’s curls.

“I am not Quartermaster yet,” Q pointed out. Though he would really like to be.

“You will be. And you’ll be utterly terrifying,” James replied.

“Obviously,” Q agreed. “Besides, this idiot is some sort of hacker. I have not been monitoring things in the world while we were here, but that is about to change. He has no idea who is coming for him.”

“You’re hot when you’re menacing,” James approved. “Well, extra hot.”

Q blushed and gave James a pleased kiss. “Ready to go then?”

As it had been since he was eleven years old, the man knew that as long as they were together he was ready for anything. “Always,” he promised.

Q still did not know where death was, but he no longer had to worry about it. Wherever it was they would be together there, and that was all that mattered.

Once upon a time, a young boy found a fascinating mechanical doll in the attic. Much later, they fell in love and saved the day. Repeatedly. And they lived happily, ever after.

And then after that.


End file.
